


Displacement

by Baphrosia (spuffy_luvr)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Drama, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffy_luvr/pseuds/Baphrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike's amulet is left to languish at the bottom of the Sunnydale crater, until a S.H.I.E.L.D. team accidentally uncovers it ten years later.  Written for the Fall 2015 round of Seasonal Spuffy.</p><p>Crossover with "Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D."  SPOILERS THROUGH MID-S2 of "S.H.I.E.L.D.".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a proper crossover before (unless you count "Animal Farm" or "The Jeff Corwin Experience"), so I decided to give it a go. Apologies in advance to diehard "S.H.I.E.L.D." fans. I don't know the canon as initmately as the Buffyverse, and there's a good chance I've goofed on minor details. Also, this is a Buffy story set against a S.H.I.E.L.D. backdrop, so the exact when of the story is purposefully vague. Sort of mid-S2, during a lull between crises. 
> 
> Spoilers for S.H.I.E.L.D. (through mid-S2) and the Marvel Universe in general, obviously, but if you haven't watched "S.H.I.E.L.D." and don't care to, you can always consider the characters you don't know as OCs.
> 
> Story is complete at ~30K words. I borrow elements of S8 comics, but this is AU from "Chosen" onward. Partially beta'd by Fox, who watched "S.H.I.E.L.D." just so they could beta this for me. Talk about commitment to being the best beta ever!

  
  
All clues pointed in one direction: The object their team had been searching for was probably buried, along with the HYDRA sub-organization that had called itself The Initiative, in a crater that had once been a small California town.  
  
"Okay, people," Phil Coulson said to his assembled team. "Grab your climbing gear and your shovels. Looks like we're heading to Sunnydale."  
  
  


*****

  
  
"Sir," Simmons said. "I'm still not certain what this 0-8-4 is, or if it even is an 0-8-4."  
  
She held the garish necklace out to Coulson, who took it with gloved hands. "It could be just somebody's bad taste," he said. "Somebody's _very_ bad taste, that should have stayed buried and forgotten."  
  
Simmons gave him a half-hearted smile. "It's more than just ugly jewelry, that I can say with complete certainty. Fitz's DWARFs honed in on it under all the rubble, even though their parameters were set to search for the other 0-8-4."  
  
Hearing his name, Fitz looked up. "Right, there's some kind of, um…" He paused, searching for the right word.  
  
Coulson kept his expression neutral. Fitz was getting better. Just - slowly. Very slowly. Some days - every second of every day, if Coulson were being honest - he wished the damage that May had inflicted on Ward would've healed just as slowly. Or, better yet, not at all.  
  
Did that make him a bad man?  
  
Maybe he could blame it on the alien blood.  
  
"Energy resonance," Fitz finally spit out. "Almost as if it were... alive."  
  
"Alive?" Coulson said. He shot his hand out, moving the necklace further away from his body. "What do you mean by alive?"  
  
"That's just it. We don't know yet, sir," Simmons said. She took it back and set it next to the scanning electron microscope. "It's sort of a mystery, isn't it?"  
  
"But not a very high priority one," Coulson reminded her. "Are you two done with the -"  
  
"Yeah, got the device right here," Fitz said. "Just a few final tweaks, and she should be good to go."  
  
"Good. Bring it to my office when you're done" Coulson glanced over at the mystery object once more. It really was ugly. "And then call our Sunnydale expert. Maybe she'll know something about Liz Taylor's lost necklace."  
  
  


*****

  
  
"Hi, Jemma."  
  
Simmons squeaked, and spun around to find a red-headed woman leaning casually against the lab bench behind her. "Agent Rosenberg! How many times have I asked you not to pop in like that? It's very disconcerting." She frowned. "And really not natural."  
  
Rosenberg grinned. "You're just jealous because you can't do it."  
  
"Well, yes," Simmons admitted. "But it's still unnatural."  
  
"Sorry, sweetie. I hate to break it to you, but magic is all about being Earth-y and natural."  
  
"Oh, not that again," Fitz said from his spot on the far side of the room. He stalked closer. "There's no such thing as magic. Your hocus-pocus is nothing more than science that can't be explained. Yet."  
  
"And hello to you too, Fitz. Nice to see you, and do you need me to turn you into a monkey again? I thought I'd convinced you the last time."  
  
Fitz scowled. "It was just a hallucination. Some sort of… hypnosis, or mind control."  
  
"We did all see it," Simmons reminded him. "With your cute little monkey hands and your cute little monkey face…"  
  
"Yeah, and I missed it. It's not as much fun having a pet monkey when you _are_ the pet monkey. Not that I really was a monkey, because it was just a hallucination. One I haven't forgiven Agent Rosenberg for," he said with a glare her way.  
  
"Aw, Fitz. I guess you don't want the curry I brought you from that little place you like, then," Rosenberg said, pulling a bag out of nowhere and wafting it under Fitz's nose.  
  
How _did_ she do that, Simmons wondered. The rational part of her mind insisted there was no such thing as magic, only manipulation of space-time continuum in an as-yet to be explained fashion. Fitz's transmogrification, however, was far more difficult to handwave away. Of course, she'd seen Bruce Banner transform into the Hulk before her very own eyes, but that change was triggered by a burst of Gamma-enhanced adrenaline in a man who had been dosed with the super serum. So maybe if you added in an energy burst from a different quantum spectrum combined with some form of...  
  
Fitz's jerky, abortive movements broke her concentration and brought her back to the here-and-now. Later. She'd puzzle it out later, when things weren't quite so busy.  
  
HIs nose twitched, and then he finally grabbed for the bag. "Well, it's not quite a prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich, but I suppose it's a start."  
  
Simmons smiled. For a while, he hadn't been able to recall his favorite sandwich. Sometimes, it was easy to forget just how far he'd come.  
  
He wagged a finger. "But I'm warning you, don't mess with me again, Agent Rosenberg."  
  
"Will you two _please_ stop with the Agent Rosenberg schtick?" Rosenberg said with a huff. "Talk about Initiative flashbacks," she muttered under her breath.  
  
Louder, she added, "I'm just plain old Willow."  
  
Startled, Simmons glanced at Fitz, and found him staring back at her, eyebrows raised high. She gave him a significant look, and he nodded slightly and turned back to Rosenberg. At least their ability to communicate without words hadn't suffered quite as much as their usual back and forth finishing of each other's sentences, Simmons thought. It was nice to see some things didn't change, no matter what else did.  
  
"You know about The Initiative?" Fitz said, his tone conversational.  
  
"Well, yeah. Secret government agency running around Sunnydale causing trouble? Not as secret as they wanted to be." She paused a beat. "Plus Buffy dated one of their guys." Willow fell silent again, her eyes distant. "Riley wasn't so bad, though. He helped us when they captured my werewolf ex-boyfriend and were running experiments on him. Riley went AWOL after that and had to hide out in burnt remains of the old high school to avoid being court martialled. Buffy took the entire Initiative complex and the Frankenmonster they'd created down not long after. With my help, of course," she added, grinning.  
  
"How exciting," Simmons said, leaning closer despite herself. "You always have the most fascinating stories about Sunnydale, full of daring and adventure."  
  
"Mostly we were just trying not to die," Willow said with a bemused laugh. "Sad thing is, not much has changed, really, except now it's aliens instead of demons."  
  
"Isn't that a huge difference? Aliens are intelligent life forms from outer space bent on world dominion, while demons are mystical creatures - presuming they are truly mystical creatures - bent on mayhem and destruction."  
  
"They're both ugly, terrifying, homicidal, inhuman, and hard to kill," Willow said, ticking the points off on her fingers. "Not so much with the different, from the average person's perspective."  
  
"I suppose when you put it that way..." Simmons turned her attention to Fitz, who'd lost interest in the conversation and was now inhaling his curry as if it might disappear. Which, considering that it had appeared out of thin air in the first place, was a distinct possibility. "Fitz, are you going to save some for me?"  
  
Willow snapped her fingers, and a second take-out bag appeared.  
  
Fitz stopped eating to point at the bag in Willow's hand. "How'd you -? No, never mind. I don't want to know."  
  
"Pocket dimension," Willow said anyway. "A hell one. Keeps the food toasty."  
  
"You're having me on." He turned to Simmons. "She's having me on. Jemma, tell me she's having me on."  
  
"I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation," Simmons said. Really, there had to be. Alien worlds, or hell dimensions as Rosenberg so quaintly called them, were real after all. Lady Sif and other Asgardians could travel between them at will. Why not regular people too? "But in the meantime, we should probably focus on the reason Agent Ros - on the reason Willow's here."  
  
"Right, the 0-8-4."  
  
Willow set the second take-out bag on an empty spot on the lab bench. "So, what is this mystery object that's got you all in a tizzy?"  
  
"I wouldn't say in a tizzy, exactly," Simmons said, leading Willow over to a different bench. "More…"  
  
"Confounded," Fitz said  
  
"Merely curious," Simmons corrected. She pulled on her insulating gloves, and picked up the necklace. "You see, it's -"  
  
Willow sucked in a sharp breath. "Where'd you find that?"  
  
"So you know what it is, then?" Fitz said.  
  
Willow didn't take her eyes off the 0-8-4. "Where did you find it?" she said again. "How -?" She reached out and took it from Simmons. "I never thought -" She looked at Simmons. "This amulet was buried in a giant crater under an entire town's worth of rubble. How did you even know it was there?"  
  
"Well, that's the thing," Simmons said. "We didn't intend to find the - amulet, did you say?"  
  
Willow nodded.  
  
"We were searching for an 0-8-4 we suspected the HYDRA off-shoot calling itself The Initiative had left in Sunnydale."  
  
"The Initiative was HYDRA? Why am I not surprised?" Willow said.  
  
"Who isn't HYDRA, these days?" Even she had been, for a short while. Simmons shoved the memories aside. There were no good ones there. "At any rate, Fitz had programmed his DWARFs to scan for the 0-8-4 we'd been searching for, but they turned up - this amulet, first."  
  
"Really? Why?"  
  
"The amulet emits a resonance," Fitz said. "Similar to human…"  
  
Simmons waited to see if he would find the word on his own. Sometimes he appreciated her help. But more often, he didn't. She bit her cheek, willing herself to remain patient.  
  
"... electrochemical impulses. And there seems to be faint delta wave activity"  
  
Willow turned to Fitz, her eyes wide. "You mean like… it's alive?"  
  
"Yes," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "Exactly like that."  
  
Taking the nearest seat, Willow sat heavily, and let the amulet's chain slide through her fingers. "Or undead," she said to herself, eyes distant once more.  
  
Undead? What on earth did that mean?  
  
Simmons waited, but Agent Rosenberg didn't explain.  
  
  


*****

  
"Explain it again," Coulson said. "But this time go slower, and use smaller words."  
  
Willow squashed her impatience, and took a calming breath. "One of our guys wore this amulet during the final battle at Sunnydale, the one that closed the Hellmouth for good. I was somewhere else so I didn't see it for myself, but from what Buffy told me afterwards, the amulet's powers were what closed the Hellmouth. Except it did it by killing our friend. Burned him right up. Based on FitzSimmons' research, I think his essence was absorbed by the amulet." Here came the tricky part. "Since it came from Wolfram and Hart, my guess is that we need to take it back there to free him. At least, nothing else has worked so far. It's sort of my last-ditch option."  
  
"But Wolfram and Hart no longer exists on this plane, as I understand it."  
  
"True. But maybe just being in their old building will trigger his release," Willow said. "Their wards are still in place, even if they're gone."  
  
"And this… comrade. Can you tell me more about him?"  
  
"His name was Spike," Willow said. And waited. Either Phil knew about Spike or he didn't. If he did, no more needed to be said. If he didn't… well, Spike wasn't Willow's to explain.  
  
"I see."  
  
To her disappointment, his expression remained blank. Phil kept his reaction - and his knowledge - close to his chest. Which, come to think of it, was probably a good thing for a man in his position, but Willow couldn't help but wonder exactly how much knowledge he had tucked away in that brain of his. Just how much he knew about _her_ , specifically.  
  
Phil considered the amulet a while longer before saying, "I can't see any reason for you not to try it. But you understand I can't devote any resources to this right now. It's not top priority."  
  
"I'm pretty much all the resources I need." And maybe Buffy. But not now. Not yet. Not until Willow was sure it would work. "But…"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's just that FitzSimmons seem pretty caught up in the whole 'mystery' of it. I think they'd be awfully disappointed if they didn't get to tag along."  
  
"Will it be dangerous?"  
  
"Pfft, no," Willow said automatically. "Easy peasy as pie."  
  
"All right. I suppose I can spare them for a few hours. In fact, I've got some business to attend to in L.A. myself. We can take the bus." He stood up behind his desk, and straightened his jacket. "Oh. And Agent Rosenberg?"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"No more turning Fitz into a monkey. It turns out I'm awfully fond of him just the way he is."  
  
Willow smiled, relieved that was all Coulson had to say on the matter. She'd been expecting an angry lecture ever since it had happened. "Don't worry, me too. Sir."  
  
  


*****  
  


  
"So, who is this 'Spike'?" Fitz asked as he, Rosenberg, and Simmons walked the final block to Wolfram and Hart's old L.A. office building.  
  
"He was a - friend. A warrior."  
  
"And you don't think Summers should be here for this?" he said, filing away Willow's hesitation over the word _friend_ to ask Jemma's opinion on later.  
  
Willow shook her head. "No. If it doesn't work, I don't want to get her hopes up for nothing," she said. She glanced at her watch, and added, "Besides, it's dinnertime in New York. She's busy right now."  
  
"Oh?" Simmons said.  
  
"Yes, with very important things." Willow's expression turned mischievous. "She's on a date."  
  
Simmons smiled, eyes dancing with interest. "With somebody very exciting, by the look on your face."  
  
"You might have heard of him. Likes to dress in Patriotic Blue. Carries a shield made of a vibranium-titanium alloy."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
Fitz thought about echoing Simmons' statement, but felt she'd summed it up nicely.  
  
Willow bounced a little. "Natasha finally talked her into it."  
  
"Well, that will be nice for both of them, I bet. Don't you think, Fitz?"  
  
"Yeah, I suppose they'd make a good match, what with the both of them being…"  
  
"Super strong?" Simmons suggested.  
  
"I was going to say heroes," Fitz said absently, absorbed by the sight of the tall, black building in front of them. Its windows glinted in the sun, as if they'd never been broken, or the building burnt to a hollow shell. "I suppose this is it? What happens now?"  
  
Willow took hold of the door handle. "We go inside and find out if my theory's correct."  
  
Fitz followed her and Simmons through the open door, and then three of them stood in the lobby. Awkwardly. Fitz often felt awkward in unfamiliar situations, but this was a whole new level of awkward. He looked around at the gleaming elevator banks, the sharp-dressed business people striding purposefully through the lobby, and the security desk. "Um… what now?" he said in a whisper.  
  
Willow looked around too. "Bathroom," she said. "Follow me".  
  
Soon, they were clustered inside the small unisex bathroom hidden down a short corridor next to the elevators.  
  
"Well, this isn't at all awkward," Fitz muttered, eyeing the small space with discomfort. "Let's hurry up, before somebody needs to use the loo."  
  
Willow pulled a small cloth bag from her purse, and he automatically backed away as far as possible, until he bumped up against the wall. She extracted the amulet, and set it in the middle of the floor.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"Darn it," she said. "I was hoping just being here would trigger the release mechanism. Hmmm…"  
  
"Maybe you need to abracadabra it," Fitz said, trying to not to sound mocking and failing miserably.  
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of…" Willow closed her eyes and held a hand over the amulet, fingers splayed. " _Libertas_ ," she said.  
  
" _Freedom_?" Fitz said. "Really?"  
  
"I suck at Latin," Willow said mildly. "It's the intent that matters more than the words, anyhow. Now, hush. You're making the energy in here go all wonky." She closed her eyes and chanted. " _Libertas, Liberi eritus, defensor_."  
  
Again nothing happened.  
  
Willow opened her mouth to try again, then snapped it shut with a click when a black whirlwind erupted from the amulet, blowing paper towels about and making the door rattle.  
  
Fitz tried to retreat, but his back was already against the wall. He froze, staring in disbelief as a man, roaring in agony, formed out of the whirlwind and reconstructed from nothing but ash before his very eyes.  
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

  
“Holy Mother of God,” Fitz breathed when the wind died down, leaving a man in a long black leather jacket doubled over with pain in the middle of the tiny bathroom.  
  
The man glared at Fitz. “What… what…” he panted. “Who are… where am…”  
  
“Spike,” Willow said soothingly. “Spike, it’s okay. It’s me, Willow?”  
  
Spike didn’t seem to hear her. “Who… where…”  
  
“I’m Fitz,” Fitz said, since the man seemed to be focused on him. “Leo Fitz. We’re at the old Wolfram and Hart building.”  
  
At the words _Wolfram and Hart_ , Spike’s face transformed into - Fitz didn’t know what, but it scared the bloody hell out of him. He scrambled out of the way as Spike roared and lunged toward him, managed to plunge one foot into the toilet, and then fell to the ground in a wet and terrified heap. He scooted backwards on his rump until he’d shoved up against the wall, then looked up to see -  
  
Well, that was unexpected.  
  
“Is he - coming out of the toilet?”  
  
“It’s a holographic program!” Simmons said excitedly. She swept her hand out in an arc, and it passed directly through the man who appeared to be sprouting from the toilet tank. “A very realistic one, I must say.”  
  
Spike looked down, then back up, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. “I’m no - no - no bloody hologram!” he said.  
  
“Hey, you’re the one poking out of a toilet, pal,” Fitz said, some of his bravado returning now that he realized the man-beast-thing couldn’t hurt him. He stood, and passed his hand through what should have been solid chest.  
  
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Simmons said.  
  
“Kind of fun, too,” Fitz said, doing it again.  
  
“Oi, stop that! Bloody hell - who the hell are you twits? What am I doing here with you? And -” Spike shied away from Fitz’s hand, then finally noticed Willow. He stared at her. “Willow?”  
  
“Hi, Spike.” She waggled her fingers at him  
  
His forehead creased. “When d’you get to be so old?”  
  
Willow gaped at him. “Old? I’m only thirty-four, mister almost two hundred!”  
  
“Well, it’s a good bit older than the last time I saw you, innit? Did you say _thirty-four_?”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“It’s been ten years? Where the hell have _I_ been for the last ten years?” Spike pointed to the amulet on the bathroom floor. “Wait. Don’t tell me I’ve been in _there_ all this time!”  
  
“It looks like it. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”  
  
Spike shook his head, bewildered, and Fitz picked up the amulet and turned it over. “Do you think there’s an off button?” he asked Simmons.  
  
“For the last time, I’m _not some hologram!_ ”  
  
Fitz stood impassive in the face of what should have been a spray of spittle, but left him perfectly dry. “Well, how d’you explain this, then?” he said, waggling his fingers inside Spike’s chest again.  
  
“Dunno,” Spike said, jerking away and wrapping his coat tighter. He looked down at the sink inside his hip. “Ghost?”  
  
There was a pounding on the door, and the doorknob rattled. “Hey, everything all right in there? I thought I heard yelling.”  
  
“Oh, I just…” Fitz called back, then trailed off. He’d never been a convincing liar to start with, but add in his disappearing vocabulary and the high pressure situation, and his mind was a complete blank.  
  
“Caught the sports scores. On my smartphone,” Simmons hissed.  
  
“Right. Caught the sports scores. On your - on _my_ smartphone. My team’s going to the championship!” he added, with a hopeful shrug at Simmons’ questioning look.  
  
And when had she gotten to be such a calm and collected liar?  
  
“Right on,” the man on the other side of the door said.  
  
When the sound of his footsteps had died out, Willow took the amulet from Fitz’s sweaty hand. “Let’s hope you’re not doomed to haunt this place,” she said to Spike, and tucked the amulet back into her purse. Taking a turn to run her hand through Spike’s chest, she said, “Why don’t we get back to the base and see if we can figure out what’s up with this.”  With a grin, she turned to Fitz. “You’re right. That _is_ fun.”  
  
“Oh sure, laugh it up at my expense,” Spike grumbled. He peered at Willow more closely. “Ten years? Really?”  
  
“Really,” Willow said softly.  
  
Fitz watched as a jumble of emotions crossed Spike’s face. Spike opened his mouth to ask something, then shut it again, seeming to think better of it. With a visible effort, he pulled himself together, and Fitz might’ve believed the cocky mask that settled over the other man’s visage if he hadn’t seen the raw pain in his eyes only seconds earlier.  
  
And suddenly, Fitz remembered that earlier face. He shuddered. Whatever Spike had been before he’d been trapped in the amulet, it wasn’t _human_. Whether Spike was a ghost or hologram, Fitz didn’t much care, so long as he remained incorporeal.  
  
Spike gestured to the door with a smirk. “Well, all right, let’s be on our merry way. Got better things to do than haunt the loo.”  
  
Fitz agreed with Spike, at least on that.  
  
  


*****

  
  
It had taken some convincing on Willow’s part before Spike agreed to set foot outside, but it had turned out she was right - being a whatever he was meant the sun couldn’t burn him to ash. Again. Not an experience he was keen on repeating, either in the forward or the reverse, any time soon. All the sun had done was turn him noticeably more insubstantial than the rest of them. Sort of tingled, too, but not in an unpleasant way. Spike figured he could even get to like the sensation.  
  
After a brisk five minute walk, during which the other three had argued over what Spike was while he floated along, dazzled by the sun-drenched streets, they’d arrived at a large black SUV in an underground parking lot. Now the driver was whizzing them along the LA highway to destinations unknown. Spike had meant to ask where they were going, but the question had tangled up with the dozens of others that needed answering, and he’d found himself unable to say anything at all.  
  
_Ten years._  
  
Spike knew just how much could change in a decade, having lived through more of them than his three ‘rescuers’ and their driver combined. Ten years meant -  
  
He couldn’t bear to think about it. Instead he stared out the window, pretending fascination with the billboards. After a while, he didn’t have to feign interest anymore. Spike was busy wondering how he could get his hands on an iPhone, and whether _Game of Thrones_ was as good as the billboard hype made it out to be, when Willow nudged him in the arm. Or tried to, at any rate.  
  
“You know, for a minute there, I was afraid you really would be doomed to haunt the building.”  
  
Spike had had the same thought himself, but it seemed luck was on his side, for once. “Why’d you pop me out at Wolfram and Hart, anyhow? Can think of a hundred other places I’d rather haunt. A hundred hundred. CBGB, for a start.”  
  
“They closed a few years ago.”  
  
He stared. CBGB - _closed_? What kind of hell dimension had he woken up in?  
  
“Besides, I tried - and failed. Couldn’t get you to ‘pop out’ out anywhere else,” Willow said with an apologetic shrug. “Since the amulet came from them way back when, I figured it was worth a shot. And it worked, so yay me, I guess.”  
  
Spike leaned back and closed his eyes. Maybe it had been ten years, but for him, the memories of putting on that amulet were barely hours old. “They meant to trap Angel in there, I suppose.” No wonder he’d been lying, forgotten, in the bottom of a crater for so long. Wolfram and Hart had wanted Angel, not Spike. It always came back to Angel. _Angel_ was the better champion, _Angel_ was the better prize. _Angel, Angel, Angel_ \- it was the story of his unlife. “How is granddaddy, these days?”  
  
Willow hesitated. “It’s a - a lot has happened. A lot of _bad_ has happened, Spike. But -”  
  
“Save it,” he said, the weight of a missing decade suddenly far too heavy for his incorporeal shoulders. At Willow’s pinched expression, he added, “Just for now. Let a fellow get acclimated to the brave new world he suddenly finds himself in.” Spike looked out the window. “Sort of expected there to be flying cars. I’m deeply disappointed in the future.”  
  
“Heh. Wait until you see Lola.”  
  
Before he could ask who Lola was, Simmons hung up her cell. “Director Coulson gave the okay to bring you on board, Spike. You know, I _really_ don’t think you’re a ghost.”  
  
“If you say hologram one more time -”  
  
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen a ghost myself, but aren’t they meant to cause disturbances in their surroundings? Drops in temperature, for example?” She leaned over Willow to pass a hand over his arm. “I don’t feel any chilliness.”  
  
“You think I’m hot, do you?” Spike said - and caught the glare her Bobbsey Twin aimed his way from the front seat. Oh ho. Looked like there was some fun to be had there. If he were inclined to be a bad, rude man - which, let’s face it, he was _always_ inclined to be a bad, rude man, soul or no.  
  
Simmons gave Spike a cool smile, but otherwise ignored his remark. “Presuming ghosts are even real, of course.”  
  
“Oh, they’re real,” Spike and Willow said in tandem.  
  
“But I think maybe Jemma is right,” Willow continued. “Other than the whole go-through-able thing, you’re not exhibiting many ghostly properties.”  
  
“I’m dead, don’t forget,” Spike said. “Always figured it as the key prerequisite for being a spook.”  
  
“And when were you ever not dead?”  
  
“Got me there, Red,” he said with an easy grin.  
  
The boy twisted around in the front seat to stare at him, sporting an identical questioning eyebrow to his Bobbsey Twin. Spike deepened his grin, letting it turn nasty. If these two twittering idiots didn’t believe in ghosts, vampires would be a right shock. He intended to save that shock for just the right moment.  
  
Never let it be said he was _nice_.  
  
“Coulson is okay with letting him know where the Playground is? Just like that?” Fitz said.  
  
“Not exactly…” Simmons gave Spike a thoughtful look. “He suggested we find some way to blindfold him before we get there.”  
  
It was Spike’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “An’ how do you propose to do that?”  
  
“Maybe you could, I don’t know… disappear back into the amulet for now?”  
  
“What do I look like to you, a bloody genie?”  
  
“I can vouch for him,” Willow said. She turned to Spike. “They’ve got this whole secret base thing going on. If HYDRA - those are the bad guys _du jour_ \- finds out where it is… Well, badness is an understatement.”  
  
“How about I close my eyes and promise not to peek,” Spike said, testily. “Who the hell am I going to tell, anyhow? I’ve been dead for ten years.”  
  
Willow gave Spike her own thoughtful look, and then said to Simmons, “You know, Billy is not going to be happy about Spike. How will he ever clip a badge to him?”  
  
Simmons laughed, and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. It’s just -” She mimed handing something to Spike. “Here’s your lanyard. Whoops! Slipped right through your fingers!”  
  
“Right,” Fitz said, grinning. “Maybe he’ll have to make special edition ghost lanyard.”  
  
Spike glared at them all. “Y’know, can’t say as I’m going with you lot in the first place. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself, even with my… disability.”  
  
“Oh,” Willow said. “I didn’t even ask - I mean, I just assumed. Would you rather not? It’s just… I thought we could fix this.” She passed her hand through his arm. “Hopefully. But if not…”  
  
It took Spike all of half a second to realize he didn’t really know where he would go. Who he knew that was even still alive. But he’d never been one for pity, or for being the pathetic hanger-on with no where else to go. “I know a shaman or two. I’m sure they could sort me out quick enough.”  
  
Willow snorted. “You remember how powerful I was back in Sunnydale, right? Well - add ten years’ practice on to that. If you want _quick_ , you know I’m your best bet.” Whereas the the girl Spike had once known might’ve preened as she said it, this was a mere statement of fact from somebody who’d figured out their place in the world.  
  
Again, it hit him just how long he’d been gone. _Ten years_. It had been a decade since he’d last seen Willow. Since he’d last seen -  
  
_Don’t think about it._  
  
_Ten years. What were the odds she was even still -_  
  
Just don’t think about it.  
  
“Yeah, but you forget - I remember the early days, pet. Blind Giles and wedding bells and all.”  
  
Willow pouted at him, and Spike grinned. Now there was the girl he remembered.  
  
Simmons leaned closer to him. “So, you’ve seen Agent Rosenberg do magic?”  
  
“Agent -” Suddenly, the niggling sense of unease, the one he had put down to abruptly coming back to life, so to speak, in a unisex bathroom, resolved into a giant, red flag smacking him in the face. Spike narrowed his eyes.  
  
He glanced at the driver. At the black SUV he was riding in. At the earnest young scientists staring at him with rapt fascination.  
  
_Secret base_ , Willow had said. _HYDRA_.  
  
_Agents_.  
  
“Oh, no,” Spike said. He glared at the Bobbsey Twins. “I don’t think so. I’ve had enough of you secret government types and your sodding research…” He turned his glare on Willow. “And - you! Bringing me straight to people like _them_? I thought better of you, Willow.”  
  
“Spike, it’s not like that!” Willow said. “These are the _good_ guys.”  
  
“Yeah, that was The Initiative’s refrain too, or don’t you remember?” He leaned closer to Willow, his gaze cold and hard, and stared at her until she flinched. “Appreciate the rescue, such as it was, Red. Ta.”  
  
And with that, he threw himself out of the car.  
  
Well, phased out, to be accurate. But the end result was the same.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my characters, etc.
> 
> Currently unbeta'd from this point on. If you catch anything, let me know (it's been a long time since I've posted without a beta).

  
  
“Hey, Spike,” Willow said gently when she noticed him lurking, slump-shouldered, in the corner of the bus’s lab.  
  
He turned to her, his eyes bruised and tired-looking. “Don’t rightly know what happened. One minute I was hoofing it back to town, and the next -” He waved his hand around the room.  
  
“Let me guess - about fifteen minutes ago?”  
  
Spike nodded. “How’d you know?”  
  
“Because that would be about when the plane took off and left L.A. You’re not doomed to haunt a building...” Willow walked over to the lab bench and held up the amulet for him to see. “You’re doomed to haunt this thing. Fitz scanned it when we got back to the plane. It still shows residual energy.”  
  
“And what’s that mean, then?”  
  
“Well…” Willow set the amulet back down and moved closer to Spike, unsure whether she was glad or disappointed that her urge to give him a hug was a moot one. “I thought maybe you were all ghost-y due to being a vampire. Because, you know, you guys always turn to dust right away, and maybe your constituent molecules couldn’t be reconstituted. Your physical form is -” She mimed an explosion of dust. “Paft. Blowing in the wind, a hundred miles and ten years away. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe Jemma’s holograph theory has merit.”  
  
With an exhale of disgust, Spike said, “And now you’re on about that too? Great. I’m doomed.”  
  
“No, no, it makes sense,” Willow said. “It’s like you’re caught inside the amulet, but it’s projecting an image of you out into the world. Your physical form is tied to the gem, somehow. We just have to figure out how to un-tie it.”  
  
“And if we don’t?”  
  
Willow hovered her hand over his arm. It was as close as she could come to a reassuring touch. “We will. But if we don’t… well, I guess you pick where you want to live, and that’s where we take the amulet. You can haunt your city of choice,” she said, and tried for a laugh.  
  
“Right, it’ll make packing a breeze,” Spike said.  
  
“See, silver linings galore!” When he didn’t even pretend to smile, she said, “Too perky?”  
  
Spike pulled his coat tighter. “Guess I can’t see anything but grey skies just yet. Sorry.”  
  
“Any which way, I promise I’ll get you out of here, okay?” Willow said, indicating the lab with a wave of her hand. “These are good people, but after The Initiative, I understand why you’re worried. I won’t leave you to them.”  
  
And maybe he wasn’t completely wrong to be worried. Willow knew Coulson would insist on Indexing Spike. She also knew - after Spike had reminded her of just how little he trusted government entities - how he would react to being Indexed. She’d been through it herself, as had Buffy, but that wouldn’t make him any more likely to cooperate.  
  
“Appreciate it,” Spike said, with a nod.  
  
Willow gave him a small, guilty smile, and told herself that being Indexed _was_ for the greater good. Funny how she’d never thought to question it before. But why was that? She’d been around for The Initiative too. She shouldn’t have forgotten, especially not with how HYDRA had been hiding within SHIELD all along.  
  
The door to the lab whooshed open, and Fitz entered. He noticed Spike, and came to a halt. “Your friend’s back, I see,” he said, not moving any closer. Fitz eyed Spike a moment longer, then said, “I’ve got some theories on how to make Spike solid again, but the equipment I need is back at the base.”  
  
He turned and left, and Willow held back a sigh. Fitz had been quite insistent on knowing just what the man-beast-chimera-thing she called a friend was after Spike had disappeared from the car, but Willow hadn’t told him. How could she? Vampires - they didn’t exist anymore. Hadn’t for years. Fitz and Simmons, babies that they were, had never known a word filled with vampires and demons, and wouldn’t have believed her even if she had told them the truth.  
  
So she’d said _Spike’s a hero_ , and left it at that.  
  
Apparently that wasn’t good enough for Fitz.  
  
“He’s a skittish sort,” Spike said when the door whooshed closed again. “What’s his deal?”  
  
“He’s never seen a vampire. Or even heard of them. Because they -”  
  
Willow paused, stricken. _Oh, god. What if we recorporealize Spike, and it kills him?_  
  
She hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences. They hadn’t even crossed her mind - it had been so long since Angel’s betrayal that Willow no longer thought about it.  
  
“Because they what?” Spike said, sharp blue eyes focused on her in the way that had always left Willow resisting the urge to squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass back in her younger days.  
  
“Remember when I said a lot of bad had happened? I hope you’re feeling acclimated, because I think _now_ would be a very good time to talk about it.”  
  
  


*****

  
  
Coulson walked up to FitzSimmons, who were so wrapped up watching the tablet in Fitz’s hand, they didn’t notice his approach. “Whatcha doing?” he said.  
  
Fitz jumped, tablet bobbling as he tried to reassert his hold on it. “N-nothing sir. Just, uh, checking on the video feed from the Playground.”  
  
“Something wrong with it?” Coulson leaned in. “Oh,” he said. “That’s Spike, I presume?”  
  
“Yes,” Fitz said. “I know he seems harmless, being incorporeal and all, and I know Willow said he’s a friend, but…”  
  
“But?”  
  
“Well, there’s something about him, sir,” Simmons said.  
  
“Something not quite right,” Fitz added. He waved his hand in front of his face. “With his face.”  
  
Coulson peered at the screen. “His choice of hairstyle seems… unconventional, but I don’t see anything wrong with his face, exactly.”  
  
“We think he might be gifted,” Simmons said. “Or -”  
  
“Enhanced,” Fitz said. “He’s like this man-lion chimera… thing… With fangs.”  
  
“And a lumpy face.”  
  
“And yellow eyes, don’t forget the eyes. Very frightening.”  
  
Coulson squinted. “It’s hard to tell with the lighting in the room, but I’d have to go with blue.”  
  
“Well, not always. Not right now, obviously,” Fitz said.  
  
“Obviously,” Coulson said.  
  
“It’s just some- Look! There!” Fitz stabbed a finger at the screen. “Look!”  
  
Coulson took the tablet, and looked.  
  
“Man-lion,” Fitz said.  
  
“Or maybe it’s his version of Hulking out,” Simmons said.  
  
“If only we could get a sample of his DNA,” Fitz said. “I bet it’s a fascinating chimera of human and lion, do you think?”  
  
“Nah,” Phil said in his blandest voice. He handed the tablet back to Fitz. “He’s a vampire.”  
  
“A _what?_ ” he heard Fitz say to his back as he walked away, at the same time as Simmons said, “I’m sorry, sir, did you say a _vampire?_ ”, their voices a chorus of horrified disbelief.  
  
Dropping a bombshell? Never got old. Resisting the urge to whistle, Coulson allowed himself a small smile, and kept on walking.  
  
  


*****

  
  
Spike stared at Willow’s worried face, but he wasn’t really seeing her. He was lost inside his head, seeing the world he’d known, the world he’d walked in for over a century. The world that had always existed, since the dawn of humankind, and now no longer did.  
  
 _Gone_.  
  
Just like that. Eons of history, wiped out by a single megalomaniac with A Plan.  
  
He stood up and wandered around the conference room, trying to process everything she’d told him over the last few minutes. After insisting on catching him up to speed, _now_ , she’d made a quick call to somebody. Then she’d picked up his amulet and teleported to the SHIELD base, snapping him along with her. Spike supposed that solved the problem of keeping him in the dark about just where he was, precisely. Somewhere underground was all he’d managed to suss out. Probably somewhere in the States, but that was less certain.  
  
After another round of the room, he paused by the faux-window, back to it and hands shoved into his duster pockets, fingers clenching and unclenching without actually grasping any of the items he knew should be in his pockets. He would’ve traded his soul for a fag right about now, or even just the ability to actually smoke one.  
  
“They - they can’t all be gone,” he said hoarsely.  
  
“Sorry, Spike,” Willow said gently. “It’s true. You’re sort of the last of the Mohicans. And the Hurons, and the Iroquois, and the Chippewa too.”  
  
“And the Slayers? With no demons left, what happened to the Slayers?” All those girls he’d defended from the First; all those girls he’d died to save - they couldn’t all be gone too, could they? Willow had said something about Angel using their lives to tip the balance, but he couldn’t have heard her right. Especially not the part about the berk wearing a mask and calling himself _Twilight_.  
  
Willow shook her head. “It was part of the deal Angel made with the Powers That Be - the Slayers for the demons. The Slayer line is dead.”  
  
Dead. Sweet Jesus.  
  
“And those bastards allowed it? Why?” Spike couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Centuries - millennia - of balance, of good versus evil, eradicated over the space of a few years. “Why _now?_ ”  
  
“Because now we have aliens, I guess. We really couldn’t figure it out either. Until the Chitauri attack. Either the Powers got rid of the demons to make way for the aliens, or they knew the aliens were coming and the balance would be shifted too far for humanity to survive, and so they did what they could to right the balance.”  
  
Spike sensed the flaw in the Powers’ plan. “Well, somebody had to fight these aliens - pretty sure Slayers would have fit the bill nicely.”  
  
“Probably. But it turns out we have a whole new group of superheroes to go with the new baddies. They’re called the Avengers. Slayers are… superfluous.”  
  
Slayers superfluous? Angel had finally brought down an apocalypse, and Spike wasn’t too sure who had won. He stared blankly, trying not to think about the implications of Slayers being superfluous. “Not much room for vampires with souls in this brave new world either, I’m guessing.”  
  
“Well, it’s sort of a moot point, because Angel’s dea-” Willow blinked. “Oh. You mean you.” She bit her lip, in the gesture Spike had come to realize over the years meant she had more bad news and was trying to figure out the least painful way of saying it.  
  
“Just spit it out, Red.”  
  
She squared her shoulders, and nodded. “Right. Well. Here’s the thing - I’m sort of afraid that if we bring you back all the way, you’ll die. For good. You’re not supposed to exist, see? If we get your body back, whatever it was Angel did to wipe out the vampires - we never really figured it out - might affect you too. Maybe.”  
  
Spike scrubbed a hand across his eyes. He couldn’t feel it, but it gave him something to do all the same. “So I was better off where I was. Stuck in the amulet, but oblivious.”  
  
“Maybe?” Willow said uncertainly. “I’m really, really sorry,” she rushed on. “I didn’t even think about it, not until after you were out, and then…”  
  
“Too late now.”  
  
“Right.” She bit her lip again. “So, I guess it’s up to you. If we try to recorporealize you.”  
  
He didn’t need to think about it. “An eternity as Casper doesn’t much appeal, love. And besides,” he said with a shrug, “I’ve somehow managed to evade the final curtain call when I expected to go out ten years ago in a flaming blaze of glory. I’ve made my peace with it.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
 _Ten years._  
  
The Slayer line is dead.  
  
The Slayer -  
  
Spike did his best to give Willow a reassuring smile. “This isn’t my world anymore. Nothing much left in it for me, is there?”  
  
“Well…” She gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret. “You do still have friends here, you know. People who care about you.”  
  
People who cared about him? Spike doubted it. He’d had no real friends - hadn’t really done anything to earn any over the course of his long and bloody unlife - and the closest thing he had to family had gone to dust years ago, according to Willow (Spike didn’t much want to think about that, either). But even if it was more than pretty words on her part to make him feel better, even if there really was somebody out there who’d be happy to see him back amongst the land of the sort-of-living… it wouldn’t be the one who mattered most.  
  
“Still rather be dust than a spook,” he said. “Who else knows I’m here? Besides your G.I. Juniors?”  
  
“Nobody, yet. I didn’t tell anybody about the amulet in case I couldn’t get you out,” Willow said. “And I haven’t exactly had the time since.”  
  
Perfect.  
  
“Works out well for all of us, then," Spike said. "If I don’t make it, you’ll be the only one to miss me.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since a couple people mentioned it - it may seem like this follows S8 canon, because I borrowed some names and elements of S8. However, as I mentioned in the first chapter, this does not follow S8. Forget whatever you know or don't know about the comics. I debated whether or not to use the name Twilight, but in the end 1) I'm terrible at naming things on my own, and 2) it amuses me. That's all. :)

  
Dating was nice, Buffy decided. It wasn’t something she’d done in years; wasn’t something she’d done ever, really, since being called, with the exception of Riley. And after Riley there’d been the Year of Spike (bad, but at least satisfying), followed by the Year of the First (even more bad, and zero bonus satisfaction despite the bad), followed by the two Years of the Head of the Slayer Army (not as bad, except for mourning Spike and Anya and everybody else who had died in the Hellmouth, but still lacking in satisfaction other than a few ill-conceived liaisons).  
  
And after that, when it had seemed like she’d grown up enough and her life had sort of settled down and her cookies had baked, there’d been Angel.  
  
Followed by, or maybe concurrent with… Twilight.  
  
After Twilight, dating or falling in love or even _satisfaction_ had been pretty much at the bottom of her list, right below accepting the Chitauri as the world’s new overlords, and way, way below licking the slime off the bottom of her boots after a long night’s slayage.  
  
But as Willow, and Dawn, and even Natasha, who didn’t know all there was to know about the suckfest that was Buffy Summers’ love life, had pointed out, it had been years since Twilight. Years since she’d had to, permanently, with no do-overs this time, end things with Angel. And Steve was a really nice guy. Like, the definition of nice. The kind of guy mothers hoped their daughters would meet and settle down with, but whom everybody knew didn’t really exist anymore.  
  
Except Steve did.  
  
Buffy fingered the petals of the bouquet on her kitchen table, smiling to herself. Probably goofily. But that was kind of nice too, for a change. She’d forgotten what it was like to be with a nice, normal (or almost so, if you didn’t count being invincible and old, but not as old as vampires) guy, and to have a nice, normal time doing nice, normal, date-y things that didn’t involve huge amounts of tears and drama or killing things. With bonus added sunshine, because maybe she was a creature of the night, but she was still a California girl at heart, and being able to do daytime things with a potential boyfriend, well, she’d missed that. Buffy suspected that Steve, being the old-fashioned guy he was, wouldn’t be rushing to help in the satisfaction department, but she also suspected that if and when the time came, it would be worth the wait. She was willing to wait, these days.  
  
And maybe Steve wouldn’t be _The One_ \- in fact, she was fairly certain he wouldn't be _The One_ \- but this was still nice.  
  
 _I had a wonderful time yesterday_ , the card said. _Looking forward to tomorrow_.  
  
Unbidden, her smile grew bigger, and probably equally more goofy. Buffy decided she was looking forward to it too.  
  
She’d met Cap and worked with him before yesterday. Not during the battle of New York - she’d been ‘in retirement’ then, not knowing what to do with herself in a world without demons - but later, hunting down HYDRA members together. And it had turned out that they worked well together. Really well. She didn’t quite have the hang of the whole SHIELD subterfuge and special gadgets thing - too Initiative-y for her; she would always be a ‘point me in the right direction and tell me what to hit’ kind of girl - hence the not signing up to be a SHIELD agent. But the superhero punching bad guys into submission for truth, justice, and puppies thing? So her forte. And Steve’s too. So that worked.  
  
Buffy had to admit she’d been a little intimidated by him at first. Sure, she’d been a superhero for years, but not the kind that got ticker tape parades and their own action figures, or worked with a whole team of superheroes, each more superhero-y than the last. She hadn’t expected to wake up one day and find herself a second-string superhero. She still didn’t feel comfortable with the other Avengers, and didn’t think she ever would.  
  
Well, with the exception of Natasha, but that might have been because she was happy to have a little extra Girl Power in her corner, especially after years of being all about the Girl Power and even having an entire army of girls at her command. Buffy tensed automatically at the thought of her girls, but when the hot, tight knot of pain in her stomach that was always there whenever she thought of them didn’t come, she blinked in surprise. It was there, but… muted. Sharp and painful still, but the rage and the despair and the urge to resurrect somebody just so she could kill them over and over again didn’t make an appearance.  
  
Maybe she really was finally healing. The thought was bittersweet at best, the same as when she’d realized that there would always be a hole in her heart where Mom had been, but she’d survive. And maybe even be able to be happy again someday.  
  
A little unsettled, she thought about calling somebody to talk about it, but then she realized she already knew what their reactions would be. Natasha would wink knowingly and say her newfound almost-equanimity was because of Steve. Willow would smile gently and say time healed all wounds. Dawn would roll her eyes and say it was about time Buffy got over thinking everything was her fault and her responsibility. Xander would awkwardly pat her back and then ply her with more questions about his childhood hero, Captain America.  
  
Buffy thought maybe they’d all be right in their own way, even Xander, who had lost Renee in the wake of Twilight and far too soon after losing Anya. But even he had started to live life again, one day at a time.  
  
Slipping a delicate, pale pink rose from the vase, Buffy brought it to her nose and inhaled its heady perfume, then whispered it across her cheek.  
  
Maybe it was time for her to do the same.  
  


*******

  
  
It really wasn’t fair, Willow thought. She hadn’t faced a moral dilemma like this for years, and while she thought she’d gotten better at doing the Right Thing rather than the Easy Thing, it was still more pressure than she wanted to handle. Especially considering that Buffy would be the one to suffer if she made the wrong choice. Buffy, who’d finally started to put Angel and Twilight and Sunnydale behind her. How could Willow ask her to face a blast from her past who might or might not die on her all over again?  
  
And then there was Spike. Willow had expected him to ask about Buffy at some point over the last couple days, but he hadn’t, and the longer he didn’t, the more awkward she felt trying to bring it up. “ _Hey, Spike, maybe you shouldn’t be so suicidal because - Buffy!_ ” There was just no good way to say it, especially since she didn’t really know how Buffy would feel about Spike being back. She’d mourned him, yes, but it had been ten years ago and so much had happened since then. What if Buffy didn’t actually want Spike in her life? What would Spike do then?  
  
And what if she was remembering the past wrong, and Spike had been over Buffy at the end? What if _he_ didn't care to see _her_ , and Willow forced them into a reunion? Talk about awkward.  
  
On top of which, what if Spike really did die all over again? Maybe Willow hadn’t been best buds with the guy, but it wasn’t like she wanted him to die.  
  
So she dithered, and told Spike that the research on how to get his body back was taking a while because magic was different now. And it wasn’t even a lie, not really - ever since the new world order had come into play, she couldn’t call on any demons or gods or goddesses anymore. Well, except the Norse ones, perhaps unsurprisingly.  
  
But meanwhile, FitzSimmons were getting closer to solving the problem. The only reason they hadn’t accomplished it yet was because Spike was low on their list of priorities, down below HYDRA and aliens and whatever else they were dealing with right now, all the top-secret-y stuff she didn’t have clearance for.  
  
Willow wasn’t complaining (except for the part where she was missing her honey and also work, but other than that, she wasn’t complaining). It gave her more time to try to figure out what to do. And, in no way more importantly, maybe find a solution first. Because, dammit, she was tired of getting upstaged by these two upstarts. She loved FitzSimmons - she did - but it was a little hard on a girl’s ego to find you weren’t the brainiest of the bunch anymore, especially when that honor went to a couple of kids who’d been in diapers back when she’d been Hacker Supreme of Sunnydale.  
  
She flipped Giles’ book shut and rubbed her temples. _Call Buffy_ or _Don’t call Buffy_. She couldn’t decide. _Tell Spike before trying to re-corporealize him_ or _Don’t tell Spike before trying to re-corporealize him_.  
  
Too many decisions.  
  
Fitz chose that moment to poke his head through the open door to the conference room. “I think we’ve got it,” he said. “We’re ready to fix your friend.”  
  
So this was it. Willow swallowed, and tried to stall. “Are you sure? Because it’s a magical artifact, so I really think a magical solution -”  
  
“No, no, I told you. It’s exactly like the time we thought that fellow was a ghost, but it turned out he was just trapped in a sort of portal of his own making, stuck between two different worlds. All we have to do is bring Spike all the way through by locking onto his signature with…”  
  
Fitz kept talking, but Willow wasn’t hearing. Instead, her brain had dissolved into a panicky mush of _oh my god I have to decide right now_ and _tell or don’t tell what should I do?_ , the words echoing discordantly through her skull and really not helping with the decision making.  
  
On the plus side, the panic? Kept her from being too resentful about being upstaged _again_.  
  
“Okay, okay, just - don’t do anything without me!” she said and dashed off.  
  
 _Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god._ Where had Spike gotten to? All the places he’d come to favor haunting over the past few days stood empty, at least of incorporeal, souled vampires. She found Jemma in the lab, but no Spike, and was about to dash back out when Jemma called to her.  
  
“Fitz has gone to look for you - we’ve got the temporal transducer rigged with a molecular retrieval unit. But I was wondering… should we call Summers? Before we attempt to solidify Spike?”  
  
“I don’t _know_ ,” Willow said, and turned back to the door intent on her search - only to hurry through a frozen, slack-faced Spike.  
  
She froze too, then turned around slowly. “Spike?”  
  
No answer. No movement, either  
  
He was blocking the doorway, so Willow had no choice to step back through him, cringing as she did. “Spike...” she said again once she was face-to-face with him, and then she trailed off. Violent maelstroms of hope and fear swirled across his face, and the look in his eyes left her chest aching.  
  
“Willow? Did she say - does - does she mean… Dawn?” he croaked.  
  
“Dawn’s last name is Pellerton now, remember?” Willow said, somewhat inanely, and then mentally shook herself. Why couldn’t she just come out and answer his real question? The cat was out of the bag, legs splayed and claws extended. There was no stuffing it back in. Or any reason to, really. “Jemma means Buffy.”  
  
She steeled herself for - she didn’t quite know what, but some kind of explosive reaction. Spike was nothing if not explosive.  
  
But he just licked his lips and swallowed. Repeatedly. If his hands hadn’t been shaking and his chest hadn’t been heaving - funny how he’d always kept those human reactions - she might have made the mistake of thinking him unaffected.  
  
“She’s alive, Spike. Alive and well. You didn’t ask, and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, so…”  
  
“A- alive,” he repeated shakily. “Alive. Is - is she happy?”  
  
That was a harder question to answer. “Getting there,” Willow said softly. “She’s - yeah. Getting there.”  
  
“Okay.” Spike nodded decisively. He skirted Willow and strode the rest of the way into the room. “No need to call Buffy.” His voice cracked a little on _Buffy_ , but then he squared his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with,” he said to Jemma.  
  
Jemma looked from him to Willow, uncertain.  
  
“But, Spike,” Willow said. “Don’t you want to at least see her? Just - just in case something goes wrong?”  
  
“And saddle her with that?” he said, glaring fiercely at Willow. “No.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Absolutely not. If it works, then… then…”  
  
Spike slumped, looking lost once more. “She’s still alive,” he said, more to himself than anybody else in the room. He looked up at Willow. “How? You said the Slayer line was dead.”  
  
“Oh, that," Willow said, suddenly understanding why he hadn't asked after Buffy when it was obvious he still cared. A lot. "Remember how there were two Slayers? Well, before there were hundreds? After the Slayer line split through Kendra, and then Faith, and Buffy died again and everything got reset - well, the short answer is the line didn’t go through Buffy anymore once Kendra was called. She sort of had a get out of jail free card.”  
  
“Oh,” Spike said, still looking lost.

He shook himself. “Bloody hell, what a load for her to carry. As if she didn’t have enough guilt on her shoulders, but then to survive that? Had to be agony for her.”  
  
Willow nodded, surprised. She’d forgotten how intuitive he could be. “Yeah, it was - she’s just starting to recover.”  
  
“And we’re going to let her keep doing that, Willow. You hear?”  
  
“I hear,” Willow said.   
  
But she couldn’t decide if she agreed.  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

  
“I don’t like it,” May said to Coulson. “I don’t like vampires, and I don’t like this plan.”  
  
They were standing in the vault that had until recently been occupied by Ward, watching FitzSimmons set up the equipment for the attempt to recorporealize Spike. The consensus had been to do it behind the shield in the D vault, just in case something went wrong and the newly corporealized vampire had to be restrained.  
  
Or maybe they’d keep him there anyway, Coulson thought. No matter what Rosenberg said, he wasn’t ready to trust a vampire, souled or otherwise.  
  
“Is this an official protest?” he said.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Duly noted,” Coulson said. “This one’s meant to have a soul, if that makes a difference.”  
  
“No,” May said.  
  
Coulson understood May’s reservations - Agent Rosenberg had told them Twilight had a soul too. It hadn’t stopped Twilight from killing four of SHIELD’s finest. And nearly killing May too. “If it makes you feel any better, there’s a good chance he won’t survive the attempt.”  
  
May looked at him. “No,” she said.  
  
They watched together in silence a while longer, May with folded arms.  
  
Rosenberg descended the stairs to the vault, bearing Spike’s amulet. Spike followed, half-floating along beside her. To an uninformed observer, May’s expression remained uninterested, her bearing casual, but Coulson could see the subtle changes in her posture. She was ready for battle.  
  
Not for the first time since learning about Slayers, he wondered if Agent May might have been one under different circumstances. Melinda might not appreciate the sentiment, but Coulson was glad she was older. Too old to have been activated in Sunnydale, too old to become a Slayer.  
  
Too old to have died with the rest of them.  
  
“Are you sure?” Rosenberg was saying to the vampire. “You know how Buffy gets about keeping things from her for her own good. She’s going to be -”  
  
“Royally pissed, no doubt. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to agree to her showing up just in time to watch me disappear on the wind, Red. I’ll ask forgiveness after. If I’m around to do it.”  
  
“Sure, she’ll forgive _you_ , because she’ll be all happy you’re not dead. It’s me I’m worried about.”  
  
“Summers is coming here?” May said.  
  
Coulson tried not to smile at the hint of dismay in her tone. “You heard the vampire. Only if he’s around to greet her after Fitz gets through with him.”  
  
Her lips thinned, just a fraction. “Requesting permission to take Skye on a training exercise. Sir.”  
  
“Hi, Melinda,” Rosenberg chirped. “You don’t want to stick around and watch the show?”  
  
“No,” May said. She turned around and headed up the stairs.  
  
“Oh, Agent May,” Coulson called.  
  
She paused, but didn’t turn to him.  
  
“Permission granted.”  
  
Spike watched May mount the stairs. “What’s her deal?” he said with a nod in her direction.  
  
“Agent May? She’s not a fan,” Coulson said.  
  
“Of yours truly? Or Buffy?”  
  
Coulson considered him. “You heard the bit about Summers, did you?”  
  
“Vampire. I hear a lot of things,” Spike said. His expression was neutral, but his tone suggested that he’d heard far more than he was supposed to these last few days, and wanted Coulson to know it.  
  
“Hmm,” Coulson said, not rising to the bait. “I wondered, what with being less of a vampire and more of a ghost. The answer, though, is both. May is not a fan of vampires, or of Ms. Summers.”  
  
“Vampires I can understand, but why the Slayer?”  
  
Rosenberg grinned. “Because Buffy’s the only person who can regularly kick her ass.” She leaned in. “Melinda’s never won a sparring session with Buffy. She kinda takes it personally.”  
  
Spike’s face softened, and he smiled. “That’s my Slayer,” he said fondly. “Bit not fair, though, pitting a Slayer against a regular human. It’s no shame to lose to Buffy.”  
  
“You would know, you big loser,” Rosenberg said. “But Melinda’s _amazing_. It doesn’t matter whether she’s fighting somebody gifted or enhanced, she sort of never loses.”  
  
“Except to Buffy.”  
  
“Except to Buffy,” Rosenberg agreed.  
  
Coulson thought about stepping in to defend Agent May, but unfortunately he couldn’t argue the point. She never had won against Summers. And she did take it personally.  
  
Spike gazed at the door at the top of the stair. “Expect she could’ve been a Slayer, that one.”  
  
Startled, Coulson turned to the vampire. Were vampires able to read minds? He seemed to vaguely recall something about it, but whether that was some vampires or all of them, he couldn't remember. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“I know Slayers.” Spike sported a predatory grin that made it hard to forget just what he was. Or had been. “They were my specialty, you might say.”  
  
 _Definitely leave him in the vault_ , Coulson thought. Aloud, he said, “Hmm, interesting.”  
  
“Willow?” Simmons called. “If you can bring the amulet over, I think we’re ready.”  
  
Rosenberg turned to Spike. Hands fluttering, she said, “Spike, I think you’re making a mistake. Even if you did die all over again, she’d want to see you.”  
  
Spike looked torn, but only for a moment. He sucked in a breath. “No. And if I don’t make it - she never even has to know, Willow. You hear me? Now go give the Bobbsey twins the bauble, and let them try to fix me.”  
  
With a disappointed huff, Rosenberg did as he bid. Spike followed. Then she, Fitz, and Simmons all moved out of the containment area, Fitz with tablet in hand.  
  
“Right,” Fitz said to Spike as he turned on the barrier to the cell, locking the amulet - and Spike - behind it. “I’d like to tell you this will be quick and painless, but the truth is -”  
  
“We don’t really know,” Simmons finished.  
  
“Let’s just get it over with. No hard feelings for whatever happens, all right?”  
  
“All right,” Simmons said. Coulson could tell she was trying to come across as reassuring, but she mostly sounded worried. He could hardly blame her. If things did go wrong - he really hoped things didn’t go wrong. Or that if they did, it would be quick and painless.  
  
Spike essayed a disdainful and nonchalant sniff, and Coulson felt a pang of pang of sympathy. He had to hand it to the vampire - allowing FitzSimmons to experiment on him this way? Took guts. No matter how desperate he was to be something other than a ghost, Coulson thought most people would’ve chosen permanent ghost-dom rather than near-certain pain and death.  
  
He wondered what Spike would do with his new lease on life, assuming he got one. A man willing to risk everything that way - well, he’d either make a valuable member of their team, or he’d need to be watched. Carefully.  
  
Fitz tapped some buttons on his tablet, and the instrument he’d built came to life with a crackle of electricity. A small beam of intense green light erupted and focused on the amulet’s gem, which Fitz had clamped into the machine, setting it aglow. He tapped some more buttons, and the machine began to hum and whirr, and then Spike’s form wavered.  
  
Spike gasped, and gritted his teeth. “ _Some_ thing’s happening. Whatever it is, don’t stop,” he ground out.  
  
Rosenberg let out a tiny whimper. “I can’t - I have to get Buffy. She’d want to see you, Spike. Even if it was just for a minute.”  
  
“Permission denied,” Coulson reminded her. He agreed with Spike, at least on this, and had made his orders clear to Rosenberg.  
  
She didn’t even look at him. Coulson wasn’t sure if Spike had heard her, what with the way he was flickering in and out of existence, but the vampire shook his head. “I said - no!” he managed between flickers.  
  
She spoke over his protests. “There are things she wanted to tell you - after. And never got the chance. I’m - I’m sorry Spike. I have to -”  
  
Before Coulson could remind her again that she was going against orders, Rosenberg disappeared with a pop.  
  
 _Dammit_.  
  
“No!” Spike shouted. He rushed the shield, ignoring FitzSimmons warnings not to move, and bounced back. There was a sharp crackle of electricity, and Spike fell to the ground with a scream.  
  
Coulson ran to Spike’s side, stopping himself just shy the barrier. To the right of him, Fitz and Simmons did the same.  
  
Fitz hovered a hand over the tablet, making abortive motions. “Should I stop, do you think?” Fitz said when Spike continued to scream. “He said don’t stop, and if his bouncing off the shield is any indication, it’s working, but -”  
  
“I don’t know if I can bear it,” Simmons said. “We have to do _something_ , Fitz.”  
  
“Maybe I can…” He trailed off, fingers flying as he made adjustments. The machine whirred faster and began to spark.  
  
Spike began to jerk uncontrollably, flopping around on the ground. His screams turned silent, which was even more unnerving.  
  
“You have to alter the frequency,” Simmons said, her voice cracking. “He’s not human, remember? That’s the wrong -”  
  
“Right, right, on it -”  
  
Rosenberg reappeared with Summers, who was wearing a slinky red evening dress and in the middle of saying, “... can’t you just tell me what’s happening…”.  
  
Holding tightly to Summers’ other arm was an equally sharp-dressed Steve Rogers, who let go and stumbled to his knees, looking distinctly green.  
  
 _But Cap isn’t supposed to know I’m alive_ , Coulson thought. Not that it mattered, not at this moment with all the other chaos, but his mind got stuck on the idea that he’d just been caught out in a major fib by his childhood hero, and refused to let go. There would have to be explanations, and promises of secrecy, something Coulson was starting to get awfully tired of. He supposed it was a small blessing that at least Cap would find out directly from him, and not through the grapevine.  
  
Rosenberg was going face serious disciplinary action for this.  
  
Spike screamed again, and Summers whipped around, looking for the source of the nerve-jangling sound.  
  
“Oh, god. _Spike_.”  
  


 

*******

  
  
It didn’t really occur to Buffy to be surprised to see Spike. The fact that he was suddenly _there_ , after being dead for ten years, didn’t register. All that registered was the noise he was making. And the pain he was in.  
  
Buffy shook Willow off. “Spike!” she said, hurrying forward. “Spike, can you hear me?”  
  
Hands grabbed her. Voices shouted at her. Buffy ignored them all. “Spike?” Oh, god. He had stopped screaming, and now he was just lying there. Sort of like that time the chip had been misfiring. Except now she had no idea what was wrong.  
  
She stepped around somebody’s outstretched arm, and ran smack into an invisible barrier that glowed in an orange grid wherever she’d made contact. Buffy whirled. “Take it down. Now!”  
  
“No.” Phil - _Phil? What was Spike doing with SHIELD?_ \- shook his head. “Sorry, Buffy. Not until we’re sure he’s not a threat.”  
  
“Threat to who? Look at him. He’s unconscious! And if he presents any kind of danger, I’m _right_ here.”  
  
“Sorry,” Phil said again.  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. “Fine. Then let me in there with him.” When he hesitated, she said, “I _will_ break your invisible barrier down with my bare hands if I have to. You know that, right?”  
  
He sighed. “Let her through,” he said to the boy wonder. What was his name? Fritz?  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Let her in, Fitz.”  
  
Fitz stabbed at his tablet screen, and the outline of a door appeared. Buffy stepped through quickly, before they could change their mind, and dropped to Spike’s side. The barrier buzzed shut behind her.  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” she said, sliding her legs out to pillow his head on her lap. It was an uncomfortable position in evening wear, but she barely noticed, too intent on Spike. She brushed his hair back from his face, fingertips lingering over his cheek, and that was when it hit her.  
  
It had been ten years since she’d done this last. Ten years since she’d seen him. Ten years since he’d _died_. Or so she’d thought. Her fingers tightened in Spike’s hair, probably painfully so for him, but he was unconscious. And she seemed incapable of unwinding them and letting him go, anyway.  
  
Trembling now, Buffy looked up, and met Willow’s worried eyes. “Um, Willow? How’d Spike get here?”  
  
“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Willow said. “But first - is he solid?”  
  
“What kind of question is that? Of course Spike’s -”  
  
Spike opened his eyes. “Buffy,” he said.  
  
And then he vanished.

 


	6. Chapter 6

  
“Don’t move,” Fitz shouted.  
  
Buffy froze mid-leap-up to demand what the hell was going on. “What the hell is going on?” she said, from her spot on the floor. Her entire body screamed _do something now!_ but she forced herself to remain immobile.  
  
“Don’t worry, it’s only the final cycle of the retrieval unit,” Fitz said. Which made no sense to her at all, but he went on, waving the tablet in his hand. “The unit’s still got a lock on him. It’s looking for all the remnant constituent particles, making sure it hasn’t left anything behind.”  
  
She still didn’t understand. “Willow?”  
  
“Spike was stuck between dimensions,” Willow said. “Fitz is pulling him from the dimension within Wolfram and Hart’s amulet and anchoring him to this one.”  
  
That was slightly more comprehensible, and also explained where Spike had come from. Sort of. A little. If only she knew what amulet Willow was - oh. _Oh_. Buffy stared at the large amulet clamped onto the front of the machine, remembering the last time she’d seen it: around Spike’s neck, deep within the Hellmouth, as he’d started to burn.  
  
And he’d been stuck in it? Stuck there for _ten_ years, while they’d done nothing to -  
  
Buffy felt faint. “I didn’t know,” she said in a small voice.  
  
“None of us did,” Willow said. “But it’s a good thing, maybe, because -”  
  
“Here he comes!” Fitz said, cutting Willow off. There was a crackle of blinding light, and then Buffy had a lapful of pale, unconscious vampire once more.  
  
She found herself touching his head, his chest, his arms, reassuring herself he was really there while the machine next to them powered down with a series of clicks and whirrs. The people on the other side of the barrier were talking, shouting, even, but Buffy wasn’t listening. All she could think was: _Spike_.  
  
He began to stir, twitching his way back to life, and again Buffy was reminded of the time his chip had been misfiring. God, that had been so long ago. So long ago, he barely seemed real anymore, and yet she kept touching him, skimming his exposed skin with her fingertips, her hands remembering the way he felt even if she didn’t remember remembering it.  
  
 _Spike_.  
  
For years, she’d mourned him. Buffy could remember how much she’d missed him and how hard she’d cried once she’d realized he was really _gone_ , much in the same way she could remember missing her mom after she’d died. Spike had once been deeply intertwined in her life, with love and pain and loss so intense, it had seemed impossible the heartache would ever fade. But he’d been replaced by other loves, other pain, other losses, until he was no more than a bittersweet memory. And now -  
  
That was the question. What now? Spike had been an important part of her past, but he was her past.  
  
Or had been, until moments ago. She still couldn’t quite comprehend it.  
  
She looked up, to find five faces staring back at her. Phil’s countenance was a study in neutrality, while the two kids examined the vampire in her lap and the way she held him with rapt fascination. Willow was biting her lip, her eyes sympathetic and worried at the same time. And Steve - Steve went between staring at Phil and staring at Spike, his eyes darting from one to the other.  
  
 _I’m sorry_ , she mouthed at him when he looked at her, but exactly what she was sorry for, whether it was their interrupted date or the crazy situation they’d found themselves in or his finding out Phil was still alive this way, when she had already known but hadn’t been allowed to tell him, she couldn’t say.  
  
He nodded, giving her a tentative smile, and Buffy smiled back. That was the nice thing about him - whatever the situation, Steve adapted, putting the mission first. Not that Spike was a mission, but… well. Yes. He was.  
  
Spike twitched again, violently, then leapt to his feet with a roar, going from unconscious to fully vamped and ready to attack without pause.  
  
“Easy, Spike,” she said, flowing to her feet, hands up to defend herself but not to hurt. In the background, she could hear the others’ excited voices, including Steve’s demands to be let in with her, but she tuned them out. This was Spike. No matter what else had changed in the world, they hadn’t: he was still Spike, and she was still Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “Easy,” she said. “Easy, Spike.”  
  
His snarls faded, and then Spike - _Spike!_ \- was facing her with clear, blue eyes. “Buffy?”  
  
“It’s me,” she said. “Older and not much wiser, but… Long time no see, huh? You look exactly the same.” Babbling - always a sign of Buffy nervousness. Also, how not fair was it that she was ten years wrinklier, and he looked exactly the same? Probably looked younger than her now, even.  
  
Spike blinked at her, then reached out, tentatively, to feather his hand against hers, knuckles brushing against knuckles. In the background, the cacophony of voices continued. Neither of them paid heed. Nothing mattered but _this_ , Spike, here, alive. With her. He cocked his head, studying her with an intensity she’d forgotten.  
  
“I -” he said. Then he stiffened, frowning, attention clearly elsewhere.  
  
“What?” Buffy said, surprised. And maybe a touch disappointed. This was big - _momentous_ \- and he was distracted? But then she turned to see what Spike was looking at, and did a double take.  
  
Steve Rogers - sweet, calm, old-fashioned Captain America - was practically clawing the barrier, glaring at Spike with pure fury in his eyes. “I know you,” he said, his eyes never leaving Spike’s. “Your hair is different, but I remember you, _nosferatu_. I remember the things you did to my men.”  
  
Without taking his gaze from Spike, he said, “That _thing_ is HYDRA, Buffy. He’s a killer.”  
  
“Captain America himself,” Spike drawled, every word dripping with disdain, though Buffy recognized the tense set to his shoulders that meant he was posturing, and not so calm as he appeared. “Seems death just ain’t what it used to be.”  
  
“ _You_ should know. Why are you here? Is this part of HYDRA’s plans to infiltrate SHIELD?”  
  
“Spike’s not who you think -” Buffy began.  
  
“He is. He’s a Nazi killer. He was working with them -”  
  
Spike laughed. “Oh, I’m a Nazi killer, all right. But more in the sense of having killed Nazis than having killed for them. Not that I was doing for noble reasons, mind. They were there, and I was peckish. Got myself a nice jacket out of it, too, little swastikas on the arm and everything. Looked good on me.”  
  
The room went silent, except for the sharp, shocked gasps of the others. Buffy stared at Spike, aghast. She’d forgotten just how obnoxious he could be, especially when he had his back up.  
  
“ _Du meine Freunde getötet_ ,” Steve said. “ _Blutsauger_.”  
  
“No clue what you said, big guy. I don’t speak Kraut.”  
  
Steve lifted Willow’s restraining hand from his arm, gently, but without looking at her, his gaze locked onto Buffy. “Don’t believe a word he says. He’s a HYDRA agent.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, HYDRA. I remember them. No friends of mine, that lot. Don’t ever trust a ‘free virgin blood party’,” Spike said to the room at large.  
  
Buffy glanced at Fitz and Simmons huddling in the corner, and Phil, ready to leap into the fray if necessary. She turned back to Spike. “I sincerely did not miss how much of an ass you can be. Quit antagonizing the super soldier and play nice for a change, all right?”  
  
To Steve, she said, “Spike was a killer, it’s true. He’s a vampire. But long story short: he has a soul now. He may look like the same guy, but he’s not the thing that ate your men. And he’s not a HYDRA agent.”  
  
And as an aside to Spike, “You do still have your soul, right?”  
  
Spike shrugged. “Far as I can tell. Haven’t felt the urge to bite anyone yet. Or, I have, plenty, but not just for the evil of it.”  
  
“So reassuring.” Buffy turned back to Steve. “I understand where you’re coming from, believe me, and even with a soul he’s still an ass, but Spike is on our side. If Fitz takes down the barrier, are we going to have a problem? Because I’ve been through this before, with somebody else who thought to put revenge first, and I’m kinda deja vu-ing enough for one day already.”  
  
Willow cleared her throat. “Spike’s a white hat, Steve, through and through. I’m Willow, by the way. Buffy’s best friend. Nice to finally meet you.” She held her hand out, and Steve took it, bemused.  
  
When Willow withdrew her hand, Steve rubbed his eyes. “The last time I had a day this disconcerting, I was sixty years into the future and everybody I knew was dead.” He looked at Phil, and shook his head. “This time, everyone’s _not_ dead.”  
  
“It seems to be one of those days,” Phil agreed. “Fitz, Simmons, good work. Why don’t we all go upstairs, give Spike some time to adjust to being corporeal again. Steve and I have some things to discuss, plus we need to arrange for his transport home. Rosenberg, you’re on my list as well. Whatever your intentions, you breached protocol, and we need to discuss consequences.”  
  
Willow nodded, expression a mixture of contrition and defiance that Buffy hadn’t seen in years. Not since Sunnydale. “I’ll see you in a bit,” she said to Spike, then waved and Buffy and headed for the stairs.  
  
“Summers, you’re welcome to stay here, but I need you on the other side of the barrier.”  
  
When Buffy realised what Phil meant, she bristled. “You’re leaving Spike in this cage? Like he’s Charles Manson or something?”  
  
Spike brushed his hand against hers. “I’m fine with it, love. Me and the director worked it all out beforehand.”  
  
“And it’s only for now,” Phil added. “Just until we’re sure he’s stable.” To Spike, he said, “Is there anything you need?”  
  
Spike shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind a cup of something warm. Been ten years since I ate last. Warm and _red_ , if you catch my drift,” he added. “The tummy’s getting awfully rumbly, and you lot are starting to smell delicious.”  
  
“Geez, Spike, way to win everybody over,” Buffy muttered.  
  
Fitz, looking more than a little green, tapped at his screen, and the doorway re-appeared.  
  
Buffy hesitated, but Spike nodded and waved her on. She really didn’t want to leave him in there, but everybody else was waiting on her so she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, then dropped it and stepped through the doorway. “I’ll stay with Spike,” she said as the barrier winked invisible again. She caught Steve’s gaze. “Um… if Steve and I could just have a moment before you do the debriefing thing?”  
  
“Of course,” Phil said. He climbed the stairs, Fitz and Simmons behind him.  
  
Buffy glanced at Spike, who was studiously not looking at her or Steve, and then back at Steve. She motioned him up the stairs after her, wanting privacy for this.  
  
“I’m _really_ sorry about, well, today,” she said when they’d reached the top.  
  
“Don’t be. It’s not like you knew this was going to happen.”  
  
With a sharp laugh, Buffy said, “No, I really didn’t. Not in a million -” She exhaled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about Phil. And I’m sorry about Spike. That had to be as much of a shock for you as it was for me. I guarantee you he’s a good man now, but that doesn’t change who he was. What he did to your men. If it’s any consolation, I’ve seen his penance. He - he regrets what he was, Steve.”  
  
Steve leaned back against the wall, rubbing his closed eyes. “You never forget the sound of your men dying, you know? I remember every scream, Buffy. Every man I couldn’t save. Like it was yesterday, because for me… it almost was.” He sighed. “But you say he’s changed, and I’ve seen stranger things, I’ll grant you that. I know you have no reason to lie. So I’ll take your word on it.” _For now_ hung in the air, unsaid. “How do you know him, anyway?”  
  
“Sunnydale,” she said. Suddenly cold, she shivered, wrapping her arms around her bare arms. Steve removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, and Buffy smiled. Her mother _really_ would’ve like this guy. “Remember I told you about the final battle? Spike was the one who closed the Hellmouth. He died to do it - or so we thought.”  
  
“The one you loved,” he said slowly.  
  
Oh. Right. Buffy had told him about that. Not all the details, but enough for him to have obviously put it together. “Um…”  
  
Steve laughed a little. “Wow. Talk about second chances.”  
  
“I - I don’t really know. It’s been so long, and my life is so… and…” Buffy stammered to a halt.  
 _  
And there’s you._  
  
It felt like something she was supposed to say, but the words didn’t feel right. They were presumptuous, at the very least. She also didn’t know how true they were. “Did - did you want a rain cheque on that date?” she said instead, smiling so brightly her cheeks hurt.  
  
“I get the feeling it’ll be some time before you’re available again,” Steve said, without rancor. “Don’t worry about me, okay?” He jerked his thumb at the stairwell. “You’ve got more pressing concerns. And I’ve got to get back to that restaurant and let our waiter know we’re okay. Poor man got the shock of his life when we disappeared, I bet,” he said with a grin.  
  
 _Dammit_. Why did Steve have to be such a nice guy? Buffy finally meets a nice guy, and - _wham_ \- Buffy’s luck strikes again. _Thanks a lot, universe._  
  
She went up on tiptoe, to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said.  
  
“I’ll call you when I get more info on the whereabouts of List, okay?”  
  
And that was that. Two and a half dates, and another relationship had bit the dust.  
  
But hey. Steve had lasted two dates longer than anybody else had in years.

 


	7. Chapter 7

  
Spike tried not to listen in on Buffy’s conversation with Captain Tightpants, he really did. But either she’d forgotten about vampire hearing, or sound just happened to echo perfectly down the stairwell and straight at him.  
  
Overhearing their little exchange didn’t do much for his mood, which was already zooming quickly towards irritable and irrational. Now that he’d realized he was hungry, _hungry_ had become an understatement. Famishment had dug its claws in with all the force of a demon’s rapaciousness. Add in the similarities to his confinement by the Initiative, invisible barrier and all - yes, Spike had agreed to this, but he hadn’t thought getting his body back would actually work - and the understanding that his presence had interfered with Buffy’s life for the worse, again, and he wasn’t at his noblest when she came back downstairs, wrapped in the other man’s dinner jacket.  
  
“So, you’ve quit screwing around with cardboard imitations and gone straight for screwing the real deal this time, eh Slayer?” he said.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You and the super soldier. Riley two point oh. Captain bloody America himself.”  
  
Buffy blinked at him, her mouth an ‘oh’ of surprise, and then her eyes narrowed and her shoulders tightened. “I’m going to give you a pass, if only because I remember what it’s like to come back from the dead. But can we not? Do this? Because I actually missed you, you know, and -”  
  
Spike slumped onto the bed. “Yeah, I’m a prize wanker, I know. Sorry. Just feeling a little -” he waved at the space between them. “Trapped. Not my best self at the moment. And, uh, for what it’s worth, you weren’t supposed to know I was back. Yet.”  
  
“Free history lesson: secrets still suck, even in the future.” Buffy sank into the metal chair in front of the invisible barrier, shifting uneasily in it until she found a tolerable position. She slid her arms into the jacket’s sleeves, and pulled them up until her hands were visible. “Why not?”  
  
“Wanted to avoid this sort of bad timing, for one.”  
  
“Is there any such thing as bad timing for finding out somebody you love has come back to life? Life being relative, of course.”  
  
Spike took note of that _love_ , something she’d avoided confirming to the muscled one earlier. “I suppose not. But there was some question of whether I’d survive the procedure. Still no guarantee I will. And _Willow_ was supposed to wait until we were sure I would before fetching you,” he said in disgust.  
  
Buffy furrowed her brow. “I get the feeling I missed a lot of key information in the madness of the last -” She looked at her watch. “Has it really only been a half hour?”  
  
“Sorry, pet, my inner clock’s off by a decade or so,” Spike said.  
  
“Yeah, that’s got to be weird. I took me months to recover, and I was only gone for -”  
  
“A hundred and forty-seven days,” Spike said automatically.  
  
Buffy looked down. “I’d forgotten how long it was, exactly.”  
  
“It’s fresher in my mind, I’d wager.” Spike hoped she’d forgotten because that wound had healed, or at least dulled. Did one ever get over losing Heaven?  
  
“So, splainy about the whole waiting to make sure you survived thing.” Buffy still wasn’t looking at him, which suggested maybe the answer was no.  
  
“I came out of the amulet with a bit of an incorporeality problem. Something like a ghost.” He refused to say _hologram_. “The boy wonder rigged up a machine to get me my body back, but no guarantees it would work. And even if it did - which, obviously it did - Willow thought I might not survive on account of being a vampire in this vampire-less world. I’m not supposed to exist, right?”  
  
Buffy looked up at that, her eyes wide. “That - no. Oh god, do you think -?”  
  
Spike shrugged. “Willow seemed to think the anti-demon mojo would take me right quick if it was going to. Since it didn’t… odds are I’ll make it.”  
  
“But only odds,” she said, standing to pace. Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing in the silence. “That’s -” She faced him, face scrunching up in misery. “I don’t want you to die. Again.”  
  
“And that’s why I didn’t want you to know,” Spike said softly.  
  
She pointed an angry finger at him. “No. You were wrong. I’d rather even a few minutes -” Buffy put her hand up against the barrier and waited, until he stood and did the same on the other side. She leaned her cheek against the shield too, the orange grid between them. “I ought to feel bad that Willow got herself in trouble for me, but I’m glad she did it. She was right, I needed to be here.”  
  
With a sigh, Spike leaned his cheek against her where her head would be, wishing he could touch her again. Maybe take the pins from her upswept hair and watch it tumble free, then comb his fingers through it. The ten years she’d aged, seemingly overnight for him, didn’t show, other than in the fine lines around her eyes. But the rest of her had only settled more firmly into her beauty, enough to take his breath away.  
  
He closed his eyes, and settled for breathing in her scent. At least his cell door let that through. He hadn’t wanted Buffy here, but now that she was…  
  
They stood like that, until a cough interrupted them.  
  
“Hey,” Willow said with a finger-waggle. “I got let out of the principal’s office just long enough to bring you something to eat. Everybody else was feeling too… squeamish,” she said, holding up a thermos.  
  
At the thought of food, the hunger he had managed to subsume while talking with Buffy redoubled, and Spike slid into game face, unable to stop himself. Nostrils flaring, he slunk from one end of his cell to the other, uncaring of how much he resembled a caged animal.  
  
 _Hungry. Kill, feed, devour -_  
  
“Hold still a sec would you,” Willow said, frowning at him.  
  
When he’d forced himself to a quivering halt, she snapped her fingers, and the thermos disappeared from her grasp and reappeared on the cot. Spike did his best not to lunge for it. “Bless you, woman,” he rasped, unthreading the cap with shaky hands.  
  
Willow went to the stairs, then hesitated and said to Buffy, “I could let you back in with him if you want. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, right?”  
  
“Oh, Willow,” Buffy said, rushing to hug her. “Coulson’s an all-around sweetheart, considering he’s the director of an organization that makes it their business to keep tabs on people like us. I’d take him over good ol’ Quentin Travers any day, but I still wouldn’t push him if I were you. And, thank you, by the way. You did the right thing, coming to get me.” She pulled back to look Willow in the eye. “I really hope Phil doesn’t go too hard on you.”  
  
Buffy looked up, scanning the ceiling until she found the camera. “She did the right thing,” she said to the camera.  
  
“I doubt he’s watching. Too busy trying to fix the mess I made with Cap,” Willow said ruefully. “But thanks for the support.” She sighed. “I guess I better get back up there.”  
  
Turning to Spike, Willow added, “I’ll try to bring you some more soon.”  
  
Spike grunted, his attention on coaxing out the last drops with his finger. It was human blood - kept on hand for transfusions, he wagered - and he wasn’t about to waste it.  
  
“And I’m glad you didn’t poof.”  
  
At that, he looked up. “Me too, Red. Though you and I will be having a conversation later.”  
  
Willow grimaced. “Get in line.”  
  
“Think you ought to be a bit more worried about what I’m going to do to you than the director,” Spike said, letting his eyes flash yellow to emphasize his point, though he wasn’t feeling quite so vengeful now that his hunger was temporarily sated.  
  
With cocked eyebrow, she snapped her fingers, and the thermos reappeared in her hand. “You were saying?”  
  
Spike chuckled. “I always did fancy a bit of danger in a woman.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone here is surprised to hear that,” Willow said, and mounted the stairs with a laugh.  
  
He looked at Buffy, to find her rolling her eyes at him.  
  
“Feeling better now, blood breath?” she said.  
  
Touching the shield so it flared orange and gave lie to the lack of cage door, Spike said, “Maybe when I get out of here.” The similarities to The Initiative were still giving him the wiggins, as Buffy would say, not that he was about to admit it. At least this lot wouldn’t be experimenting on him, or shoving bits of things in his head.  
  
He really would kill Willow if she’d lied about that.  
  
Buffy placed her hand opposite his, looking wistfully at the grid between them. Then she dropped back into her chair, and he returned to his cot. “I bet,” she said. “Any thoughts on what you’re going to do after this?”  
  
“Not really.” He hadn’t given it that much thought. He hadn’t expected to survive.  
  
“Well, the world is your oyster.” Buffy pursed her lips. “Except, you know, Sunnydale. It’s out of the running, on account of you turned into a giant crater. Thank you for that, by the way. That was -” Her face pinched up for a moment, but before Spike could reply, she shook herself and continued. “We’ve all scattered - I’m doing the whole Big Apple scene now. Um, a lot of the Avengers live in New York. It’s a convenience thing. Dawn’s in Cyprus, with her husband. Willow’s -” She stopped when she noticed Spike nodding along. “Did Willow fill you in on all this already?”  
  
“Bits and pieces. She neglected the most important bits, though. Like whether Manchester United won the cup while I was in limbo.”  
  
She stared at him a moment, then snorted. “Well, um…” Cheeks pinkening, she said, “They won a FIFA something cup about five years ago. And there were some League cups. It’s sort of all jumbled,” she said, waving her fingers around her temple. “Giles would’ve been able to keep it straight, but…”  
  
“Oh, so you watched it with him?” Spike couldn’t figure why football, of all things, was making her blush.  
  
“No, I just always paid attention - halfway paid attention, at any rate - after you…”  
  
Buffy had kept track of his favorite team in remembrance of him? If Spike could’ve, he would’ve blushed too. He certainly felt warm enough. She’d turned even redder at her admission, so he side-stepped and said, “I expect Rupert can fill me in properly.”  
  
All that lovely red fled in the blink of an eye, leaving her pale. She got up to pace once more, not looking at him now. The jacket’s sleeves flapped down to her knees, and Buffy shoved them back up and crossed her arms. Spike wished she’d take the damn thing off so he could properly admire her again. As Neanderthal as the feeling was, he didn’t much fancy seeing her in another man’s jacket, either.  
  
“That would be one of the things Willow neglected to tell you, I guess,” she said.  
  
“What?” he said, wrenching his mind off of Buffy’s slinky red dress and back onto the conversation.  
  
“He’s - he’s dead. He -” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t, um. I need to go get some water, or something. I guess the shock’s catching up to me,” she said, gesturing vaguely at him. “That and the lack of dinner. Willow grabbed me right as our plates were being served.” Eyes sliding past his face and over his shoulder to focus on the wall behind him, Buffy said, “Will you be okay if I go grab something from the kitchen? I can see if there’s more blood too.”  
  
Spike had barely nodded before she was gone, practically racing up the stairs and out the door.  
  
 _A lot of bad has happened_ , Willow had said.  
  
Apparently a lot more than she’d told him, judging from Buffy’s reaction. Spike stared up the stairs, wondering just what it was Buffy hadn’t wanted to remember, and wishing he could go after her.  
  
He touched the shield, then quickly dropped his hand. Forcing himself not to give in to panic, he slumped backwards onto the bed, arm over his eyes.  
  
Buffy would be back.  
  
He had to believe somebody would be back.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

  
“Do you think she could take Willow in a fight?” Simmons said.  
  
Fitz looked up from his sandwich. “Who, May?”  
  
She took a sip of her coffee, and pointed to the video feed on the tablet, which was set to monitor the D Vault. “No, Summers.”  
  
“You mean _mano a mano_?”  
  
Simmons nodded.  
  
Fitz frowned. “It wouldn’t exactly be a fair fight, would it? Summers is super-strong, but Rosenberg can manipulate energy and space. She’d have a distance advantage, but if Summers could get close enough to actually hit her…”  
  
“I wonder if they ever have fought?”  
  
“Well that’s just ludicrous. They’re best friends, aren’t they?”  
  
“True. I can’t imagine why they ever would.”  
  
They watched the video feed in silence, Simmons sipping her coffee and Fitz making his way through his sandwich. On screen, Willow exited, leaving Summers and Spike alone again.  
  
“He seems okay, don’t you think? Spike?” Fitz said, wiping the crumbs into his napkin.  
  
“Far as I can tell.” Simmons tapped the screen. “It’s a bit difficult without vitals to monitor. But he’s conscious and moving about, and remains solid.”  
  
“And he’s not screaming anymore.”  
  
“And that,” Simmons agreed with a shudder. “Coulson wants us to continue to monitor him, though. Oh, did Willow tell you? Don’t mention Indexing to Spike. She says he’ll have to be eased into the notion, and she or Summers will be the best person to do it.”  
  
“Don’t upset the terrifying man-beast? Yeah, I’d already figured that one out on my own.” Fitz was all in favor of just letting him go without Indexing if it meant getting rid of him sooner. Not that Spike had ever outright threatened him, but there was just something about the man. Vampire. Thing. “Do you think we can really trust him? The way he looks at us -”  
  
“It’s like he wants to eat us up. And not in a sexy way.”  
  
“Right. Exactly.” Fitz glanced up sharply. “Huh?”  
  
Simmons looked down, busying herself with the tablet and monitoring Spike’s lack of vital signs, and leaving Fitz to stare at the crown of her head. “I wonder…” she said slowly.  
  
“Wonder what?”  
  
She looked up, eyes alight with curiosity. It was his favorite look on her. “What would happen if we gave Spike GH.325? Not that we have any, but…”  
  
“You mean attempt to regenerate him?”  
  
“More like restore him to life. He’s dead, right? There’s a significant lack of vital signs. He’s basically a corpse, exactly like Coulson was before they...”  
  
Fitz shook his head. “He can’t be _dead_. He walks and talks. It’s just some sort of stasis-causing… virus. And there’s brainwave activity.” He considered. “It would be interesting, though.”  
  
“If we could get a blood sample when he’s being Indexed…”  
  
“He’ll have to give us one. Coulson won’t let him go until he does.”  
  
Simmons nodded. “True. Except - would it really be his blood? Vampire lore says not… perhaps a tissue sample, to be certain. I wonder if we could grow it up?”  
  
“Into a cell line?”  
  
“Yes. Vampire tissue is supposed to have regenerative properties, which suggests it should be easy to maintain.”  
  
“Right, right,” Fitz said. He glanced at the screen. “Oh. Summers left the vault. Is there something wrong with Spike?”  
  
Simmons examined the feed. “He’s still fine,” she said. She paused at the look on the vampire’s face. “Well, corporeal and not in physical pain, at any rate. I wonder… Do you think they had an argument? Should we back it up and see?”  
  
Fitz studied her for several moments, wondering whether her interest was the result of scientific curiosity or mere nosiness. “I don’t think -”  
  
A movement in the doorway caught his eye. “Summers. Hi!” He stood. “Is something wrong with Spike?”  
  
“No, he’s okay. I just needed some water.” She shifted in the doorway, then said, “And maybe something to eat, if you’ve got anything. I kinda got pulled away from my dinner.”  
  
“Of course!” Simmons said, jumping up. “We’ve got tinned soup, will that be okay? Or there’s always bread and Marmite. Or, oh, I supposed you’d prefer PB and J.”  
  
Summers smiled weakly. “No Marmite for this girl, thank you. I can make myself a PB and J if you point me in the right direction. It’s not quite the fancy dinner Steve and I were about to tuck into, but…” She shrugged and entered the kitchen, and hung what had to be Cap’s dinner jacket over the back of a chair.  
  
“Should I ask her about the date?” Simmons whispered to Fitz after finding Summers all the ingredients she needed and setting her up with a plate and knife. “Would that be presumptuous? I don’t really know her that well.”  
  
“I wouldn’t.”  
  
“No, you’re right.”  
  
They both smiled at Summers when she looked their way. “Anything else I can get for you?” Simmons said brightly.  
  
“Not unless you keep blood in stock.”  
  
“For transfusions, or…?” Fitz trailed off. “Oh.” _Oh_. He felt his sandwich trying to make its way back up, and put a hand to his mouth.  
  
“Director Coulson put an order in with a butcher,” Simmons said.  
  
Summers nodded. “Oh! How about Weetabix? Any kitchen that stocks Marmite has to stock Weetabix too, right?”  
  
“Did you want a bowl of cereal?” Simmons said.  
  
Summers looked embarrassed. “Um, no. Spike likes it. Or he did - I assume he still does, since it’s not like his tastes have had a chance to change over the last ten years, right? He puts it in his blood, but he’ll eat it straight if he’s feeling munchy.”  
  
Fitz’s sandwich was definitely making a reappearance. He pressed his hand more tightly against his mouth.  
  
Sounding a bit queasy herself, Jemma said, “I’m afraid we’re all out.”  
  
Summers took a bite of her sandwich, then another. “In that case, is there any chance I could borrow a phone? I left my purse behind, along with my dinner, and I really ought to call my sister and let her know about Spike.” Her brow creased. “It’s an overseas call, though. I should wait and call on my own dime -”  
  
“Free overseas calls are a part of the SHIELD benefits package,” Fitz said, rooting in his pocket for his cell phone. “I call my mum every - well, here, you can use mine,” he mumbled, locking it into guest mode and setting it on the table for her.  
  
“Thanks,” Summers said, giving him a brilliant smile, and Fitz felt his cheeks flush.  
  
“You’re welcome. We’ll - ah - we have - I have to get back to the lab,” he said. “You can just leave it on the table there when you’re done.” Fitz turned to Simmons, flustered. “Jemma, are you coming with me?”  
  
“In a moment. I have a question for Summers.”  
 _  
Oh no_ , Fitz thought. _Don’t do it. Don’t ask her about Cap_.  
  
“In a fight between you and Agent Rosenberg, who do you think would win?”

 

*******

  
  
Dawn snatched up her cell phone the moment it began to ring, and scowled at the ‘Blocked Caller ID’ message on the screen. “If you’re a telemarketer...” she muttered. “Hello?”  
  
“Hey Dawnie!”  
  
Dawn’s breath escaped in a long hiss. “Buffy! Where are you? Are you okay?” She didn’t believe her sister had been kidnapped, not really, but…  
  
“Um, yes? What’s up? You’re usually not this freaked out about me.”  
  
“You’re all over the news -”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Not by name. But Captain America was kidnapped from a restaurant earlier this evening. Along with his unidentified date - that would be you, I’m guessing. The pictures aren’t very clear, but I’d recognize my sister anywhere, no matter how blurry. Nice dress, by the way.”  
  
Buffy was silent for several beats. Finally, she exhaled. “Oh god, you’ve got to be joking.”  
  
“Nope. It was Willow who kidnapped you, right? She do the teleporting thing again?”  
  
“How’d you guess?”  
  
“They’re calling the assailant the Scarlet Witch because of her red hair and the way you vanished into thin air. Like magic. And really, who else could it be?”  
  
“Who else,” Buffy muttered. Louder, she said, “We’re fine. Cap’s fine, I’m fine. Willow, I’m not so sure about, not once Phil gets wind of the news.”  
  
Dawn moved the phone to her other ear. “Phil?”  
  
“Oh, just somebody we’re working with.”  
  
“SHIELD stuff, got it. Zipped lips all around.”  
  
“Dawn,” Buffy said sharply. “Why would you think -”  
  
“I’m your little sister, Buffy, not your stupid sister.”  
  
“I think maybe you are my stupid sister, because if your asinine conclusion was in any way correct, you’d realize that the first rule of fight club is that we don’t _ever talk about fight club_. Especially not over the phone, where anybody can listen in! You may as well just tweet about it to the whole world at that point.”  
  
“Oh,” Dawn said in a small voice, definitely feeling like the stupidest sister in the history of the world. “Right. Duh.”  
  
“Not that it matters, since you’re way off base. Good thing, too, or else the black helicopters would be on their way to your house as we speak.”  
  
Dawn wondered if maybe Buffy was giving her a warning to be on the lookout now, because despite her sister’s protests, she was still pretty sure she’d guessed right. Resisting the urge to go to the window and scan the sky, she said, “So, how was your date? Before the whole faux-kidnapping, at any rate.”  
  
“Fine,” Buffy said. “Look, Dawn, are you sitting down?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.”  
  
“No, I mean it. You’re going to want to sit down.”  
  
“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” Dawn said, leaning up against the kitchen counter. She wondered if she’d ever get over the urge to do the opposite of whatever her bossy older sister told her to do. Probably not, she decided.  
  
Buffy took a deep breath. “Spike’s alive,” she said on the exhale.  
  
Dawn sat.  
  
More precisely, her breath whooshed out and she toppled to the kitchen floor and sat hard, dropping the phone along the way. “Shit,” she said, scrambling for it. When she had it back up to her ear, she said, “Repeat, please? Because I know you didn’t just say -”  
  
“Spike’s alive. And I _told_ you to sit. You never listen to me.”  
  
Dawn rubbed her tailbone, and didn’t respond.  
  
“Remember the amulet thing Spike wore, the thing that closed the Hellmouth? Apparently he was trapped in there all this time,” Buffy said. “Willow found out, and freed him. That’s when she nabbed me. Steve came along for the ride by accident. Anyhow, that’s where I am. With Spike.”  
  
“Shit,” Dawn said again. “Are you okay?” She was feeling - she didn’t know what she was feeling, but she did know it had to be nothing compared to what Buffy was feeling.  
  
“I don’t know. At first I was just happy, you know? Shell shocked, but happy. Spike alive - how can this be of the bad?”  
  
“And then?” Dawn said when she didn’t continue.  
  
Buffy sighed. “And then he said something about Giles, and I wigged.”  
  
“You ran away.”  
  
“I did,” she said, her tone mournful. “Just - bam. Gone. I couldn’t - the minute he mentioned Giles, it brought it all back, you know? He didn’t know Giles was dead, or how or why. And I couldn’t - somebody’s going to have to tell him everything that happened, and I guess that somebody should be me. But I don’t think I can, Dawn.”  
  
Dawn’s heart broke for her sister. It was always one step forward, ten steps back with Buffy. She pivoted to rest her back against the cabinet, and drew her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. “It doesn’t have to be you, Buffy. Willow or I can fill him in, and you can go back to just being happy Spike’s alive.”  
  
“That’s just it. I don’t know if I can,” Buffy said. “Spike’s so twisted up with that past, just looking at him hurts. He’s a _vampire_. He’s a part of everything with Angel. How can I be around him, and not remember?”  
  
“Because he’s Spike, not Angel. And because he didn’t have anything to do with Twilight.” Dawn tried to keep the _duh_ out of her voice, because she understood. She really did. Absently, she traced the thin scar that followed the curve of her cheek and jaw, the one she’d refused to let Willow glamour away because she’d wanted the reminder of what they’d all lost.  
  
Buffy’s scars ran deep. Far deeper than Dawn’s - hers were only skin deep.  
  
“It’s not just that,” Buffy said. “I’m really not the same person Spike knew. Not even a little. And I’m glad he’s not dead, but ten years have passed for me. I can’t just pick up where we left off, Dawn. I can’t be the person Spike remembers. I can’t - I loved him, you know how much I loved him. But even that was in the past.”  
  
“Do you really think he expects everything to be the same?”  
  
Buffy sighed. “No. I don’t know.” She sniffled, and Dawn pictured her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, half a world away. “He didn’t even want me to know he was alive, the big dummy,” she said, sniffling again. “And it would’ve been easier not to know. I have a job and a life and maybe a boyfriend, and he’s not part of any of that, but at the same time, it’s _Spike_. How can I not just drop everything and… and...” The sniffles came louder and faster now. “I’m just so…”  
  
“You’re confused, which is perfectly normal. And I think also in shock, Buffy.”  
  
“Maybe a little.”  
  
“I think a lot.”  
  
“I have a - a beautiful, sunny loft apartment,” Buffy said between sniffles. “With lots of windows and bright sunshine,” she said, crying hard now. “I really, _really_ like my apartment.”  
  
Dawn tried to make sense of that, and couldn’t. “And… that makes you sad?”  
  
“He’s a _vampire!_ ”  
  
“Ah. You know, I don’t think you have to worry about living arrangements today,” she said gently. “Just get through whatever happens next. See what Spike wants. Maybe… maybe you’re jumping the gun, just a little.”  
  
“He’s got to go _somewhere_. We can’t just leave him on his own. He needs to be with people who understand -”  
  
“And he will be, don’t worry. Besides, traditionally speaking? It’s Xander’s job to house the vampire.”  
  
On the other end of the line, Buffy’s sniffle turned into a snort, and she half-choked, half-laughed. “Oh god, how would Xander ever explain Spike to his girlfriend?” she said when she caught her breath. “And Spike would hate Kansas.”  
  
“Probably,” Dawn agreed. “So… how is Spike taking the whole Rip Van Winkle thing? Gotta be a bit freaky suddenly coming to a decade later.” She paused. “Hey, maybe he and Cap can bond over it.”  
  
“I sincerely doubt Steve and Spike are going to bond over anything any time _ever_ ,” Buffy said. At Dawn’s questioning inhale, she added, “And don’t ask. You don’t want to know.”  
  
Dawn narrowed her eyes, but managed to check her curiosity. For now. “Fine,” she huffed. “So, Spike?”  
  
“Seems to be okay, as far as I can tell from the few minutes I spent with him. Most of which involved me majorly freaking out.” She hesitated, then said, “I should probably get back to him. I’ll call you later, once everything’s calmed down and I’m back home, okay?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Thanks for listening to me. I - really needed that,” Buffy said. “Are _you_ okay?”  
  
“Jim dandy. I’ll save my freakout for when I finally get to see Spike with my own eyes.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“I’m sure,” Dawn said. “Go on, get back to Spike.”  
  
Buffy hung up, and Dawn thunked her head back against the cabinet door, eyes closed.  
  
Spike. Alive - well, undead. It didn’t feel real.  
  
Dawn was glad he was back, but a part of her couldn’t help but wish the past had stayed the past. For Buffy’s sake. With a sigh, she pushed to her feet and went to the window, pulling back the curtain to stare blankly into the pre-dawn night.  
  
Before dropping the curtain, she scanned the sky. Just in case.

 


	9. Chapter 9

  
Coulson found Summers in the kitchen, just as Simmons has suggested, staring into space and absently using her index finger to twirl a cell phone on the table. Though her eyes were dry, it was obvious she'd been crying.  
  
He took the seat opposite her, and waited until she noticed him.  
  
“Hi,” she said, with a small smile. “I was just wool-gathering.”  
  
“You had a bit of a shock.”  
  
“Mmm. Maybe more than a bit.” She sat up a little straighter. “I know Willow disobeyed orders and all that, but for what it’s worth? I think she did the right thing”  
  
Coulson sighed. He understood Rosenberg’s motivations. But every agent had to respect the chain of command, and meticulously consider their actions rather than behaving rashly. “I’d be more inclined to overlook her actions if she hadn’t brought Cap into it and caused a media frenzy. It doesn’t matter if she didn’t mean to. She still did.”  
  
“Oh, you heard about the media frenzy, huh?”  
  
He grimaced. “Cap’s on his way back now with a cover story. Hopefully things will die down, but I’d expect some media attention when you return home.”  
  
“I’ll start practicing my ‘ _No comments_ ’.  
  
“I know I can count on your discretion.” Coulson fell silent, wondering how to address the second issue at hand, and unsure of how cooperative Summers would be. Now that Rosenberg had involved the Slayer, he’d probably have to abandon his plans to leave Spike in the brig until he was certain the vampire wouldn’t pose a threat. Summers definitely would cause problems if he didn’t release Spike soon, and Coulson had no desire to make an enemy of her. They had so few allies as is was.  
  
“Has Spike given any indication of what his plans might be?” he said.  
  
“Live out his days in a quiet little cottage in the country?” Summers said with a shrug. “I don’t think he knows himself.”  
  
“Do you think he’d be interested in joining SHIELD?”  
  
“Spike?” She laughed.  
  
“I gather that’s a no. The more important question is whether there’s a chance he’d work against us.”  
  
Summers looked him in the eye. “Only if you turn out to be evil. And if you do, I’ll be right there beside him. And if _he_ turns out to be a threat… you know I’ll do what has to be done. I always have.”  
  
“I know,” Coulson said. And he did. He didn’t have to have read her files to know it - her bright smiles had never quite hidden the weight she carried in her heart. Summers was a woman who had made hard choices for the good of the world, and at great personal expense.  
  
Not for the first time, he wished she would’ve agreed to be a member of his team, but maybe it was for the best. She’d already saved the world more times than most, and deserved a break from the frontlines if she so chose.  
  
And besides, May would’ve hated it if she had joined their team.  
  
He let the silence rest between for a moment before saying, “I plan on releasing Spike just as soon as we’ve finished up some tests.” Summers immediately bristled, and he added, “For his own well-being. He underwent an experimental process that I, quite frankly, don’t understand. If anything goes wrong, it’s likely to happen in the near future, and Spike is better off here with FitzSimmons if it does.”  
  
Leaning forward, Summers rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands. “So what’s up with the smoosh name? Are they like Bennifer, or TomKat? Do we ship FitzSimmons?”  
  
Coulson blinked at her. He wasn’t often surprised into a loss of words, but this was the last thing he’d expected her to say. Less than last, because what the hell was a _smoosh_ name? Or shipping?  
  
Did she want to mail FitzSimmons somewhere?  
  
“So… um… he’ll have to remain here a few days, most likely.”  
  
She frowned, though whether in disappointment due to the lack of answer to her question, or in irritation due to Spike having to remain in SHIELD custody, he couldn’t say.  
  
“If Spike stays, I stay,” she said.  
  
“I was hoping you’d say that. I think it’ll help him to have a familiar face around.” He paused before adding, “And I need to ask a favor of you while you’re here.”  
  
“I’m not going to throw a match just to spare Agent May’s pride.”  
  
“What? No, that wasn’t what I was going to -” Coulson exhaled, trying to find his usual unflappable calm. Had Summers always been this frustrating to talk to? “We need to Index Spike before we release him. Agent Rosenberg seems to think he won’t submit willingly. I need you to convince him to cooperate.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “You’ve been through it yourself. And you know why we do it.”  
  
“In case Spike turns evil and you need to know how to kill him,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice.  
  
Coulson grimaced. “I’m not sure I’d put it that way…”  
  
“He’ll probably agree to being interviewed,” Summers said. “He does like to talk about himself. But if you come near him with needles or any sort of invasive instrument, I can guarantee he won’t cooperate.”  
  
“And that’s why I’m asking for your help.”  
  
She stood, her chair scraping backwards away from the table. “Spike doesn’t have much faith in the beneficence of agencies who claim to be working for the greater good. After the Watcher’s Council and The Initiative, and hey, let’s not forget HYDRA within SHIELD, I tend to agree with him. Whatever information SHIELD had on me, HYDRA now has. Not just me, but all of us. Can you guarantee that won’t happen again?”  
  
“No.” She was right, he couldn’t. “But I have to believe we’re doing the right thing. And that the benefits outweigh the risks.”  
  
Summers dropped her hands to the table and leaned towards him. “I don’t agree with Indexing, but I do understand the reasons behind it. And I do believe that you - not SHIELD, but _you_ \- are trying to do the right thing. So I’ll sugarcoat it best I can and see if he’ll swallow, but…” She straightened, and shrugged.  
  
“That’s the best I can ask for.”  
  
“Good, because that’s the best you’ll get.”  
  
Coulson nodded. “Just one more question. Do you think Spike would sire more vampires? So he’s not the only one?”  
  
“Of course not, he still -” Summers trailed off, her gaze turning distant. “Oh. He has a _soul_ ,” she said to herself. “That’s why -” She gave Coulson a bright smile, a genuine one this time. “He has his soul,” she repeated. She hurried off, heels clickety-clacking, without a backward glance.  
  


*******

  
When Buffy returned to D Vault, Fitz was ascending the stairs as she descended. “Thanks for letting me use your phone,” she said. “I left it on the table.”  
  
He nodded, and held up his hand to reveal the amulet in his grasp. “I was just telling your friend that I’m going to take this to the lab and run more tests on it. The vault’s sensors show it as inert now that we’ve brought Spike through to this dimension, but I’d like to test it more thoroughly for low-level biofield variances.”  
  
“Good plan,” Buffy said. She had no clue what he was talking about, but she’d learned long ago to just nod and smile when Willow got technical on her. She figured the same technique would work here. “Let me know if you find anything worrisome.”  
  
She continued on down the stairs to find Spike flat on his back on the bed, arm over his eyes. He’d laid his duster across the foot of the mattress, and Buffy took a moment to drink in the sight of him. When she’d remembered him over the past decade, it had been like this - in bed, attired in his usual black tee and jeans. But with her cuddled into his side, her head in the crook of his neck and her hand on his chest, his hand in her hair, the two of them drawing comfort and support from each other.  
  
There were other memories, but this one had been her favorite, to be pulled out and treasured when all she’d wanted to do was curl into a little ball and give up on life. Memory-Spike had gotten her through the hardest moments of the last ten years, just as he’d done that night in real life.  
  
And now - she had the real thing. Almost. If not for the invisible barrier between them. Dammit, if she’d been thinking, she could have forced the kid to let her back into the cell, if only so she could sit next to him. Reassure herself he really was here, and not some trick of her imagination. Or the First.  
  
“Starting to feel like an exhibit in a zoo. Or maybe the sideshow freak,” Spike said, arm still over his eyes.  
  
“Come see the amazing revivified vampire?”  
  
With a snort, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side and his torso upright in one fluid motion. “Feeling better?” he asked, studying her face.  
  
“Better than better. Because guess what? You’re not going to _poof_ , at least not out of the blue.”  
  
“How do you figure?”  
  
Buffy perched on the edge of the metal chair, hands on her knees, and leaned forward. “You’ve got a soul. The ritual only banished soulless demons. Souled demons weren’t affected.”  
  
Spike frowned, taking that in. “Thought we didn’t quite know what Angel did to banish demons. That’s what Willow said.”  
  
“ _We_ didn’t know. _I_ do,” she said. “Angel told me what he’d done.”  
  
“An’ you never shared with the class?”  
  
Buffy shrugged. “It didn’t matter anymore. It was done, and I couldn’t change it.  Nobody could change it.” _The people he murdered are never coming back_ , she thought, swallowing back bile as the familiar rage and sorrow began to build.  
  
“So Angel lost his soul again, then.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“If it took him too. If it only affected soulless demons, he must’ve lost his soul.”  
  
“No,” Buffy said. It was what everybody had assumed, but she hadn’t bothered to tell them the truth about this either. “He didn’t lose his soul,” she said. “I killed him.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

  
She’d never spoken the words aloud before. Not to anybody else, and not even to herself. She’d locked them deep, never to be acknowledged, until now.  
  
Buffy had thought she’d feel more as she admitted the truth for the first time, maybe an overwhelming sense of guilt or anguish, or even the usual rage that had begun to build only moments earlier, but there was nothing. Just the cold, hard, flat _I killed him_ ringing in the air. “He had a soul, and I killed him. If I could, I’d bring him back and do it all over again.”  
  
Spike didn’t flinch. He didn’t rush to tell her she’d been justified either. Gaze neutral, he waited for her to go on, the one person who had seen the best and the worst of her and loved her all the same.  
  
So Buffy talked. For the first time since it had happened, she told the entire story, while Spike listened.  
  
“It started the year after Sunnydale, not that I knew it then. Angel was CEO of some evil law firm - it was a plan to take them down from the inside, don’t ask - and the gang and I were in Europe, rounding up the new Slayers and training them. He and I talked on occasion, but never for long. I was busy, and so was he.  
  
“Sometimes we’d get to a new Slayer too late. Without any training or understanding of what had happened to them - well, you know the life of a Slayer. Short and brutal. We’d changed that, but some fell through the cracks. Sometimes, when we found them, it wasn’t pretty. Lots of demons like a good virgin sacrifice; at least, that was what we’d thought we’d found. Those times were few and far between, in different parts of the world, and were dissimilar enough they didn’t ping our spidey senses.”  
  
Buffy shifted in her seat, wrapping her arms around herself. It was cold down here, but she’d left Steve’s jacket upstairs, unfortunately.  
  
“It was a year or two after Sunnydale when Angel finally took out the evil law firm. I’m not sure what happened; we just saw the news reports featuring a burnt out shell of a skyscraper and a lot of dead lawyers, and he never wanted to talk about it when I asked. We didn’t hear from him for months after and then he showed up on our doorstep one day, claiming the Powers had sent him. He got visions from them - something he’d inherited from Cordelia, and again, don’t ask.  
  
“Looking back now, we didn’t talk, not really. It was never our thing. So I had no idea what was going on with him. We fought the good fight, and we…” Buffy blushed. “Found ways to work around the curse.”  
  
Spike didn’t react. Which was sort of weird. Really weird. Not just the not reacting to what she’d admitted to doing with Angel, but the not talking or moving at all. In her memory, Spike was _always_ moving, always talking. Buffy watched him awhile, wondering whether he was comatose. Or maybe sleeping with his eyes open.  Maybe those side-effects Phil had been so worried about?    
  
“I’m listening, pet,” he said quietly. “Go on.”  
  
She smiled halfheartedly, and nodded. “Angel’s visions were useful. Even with all the new Slayers, we had a hard time keeping up with the uptick in demonic activity. The good guys can never catch a break, right? Most times we’d go after his visions together, but there were plenty of times he’d go off on his own. And some of those times, he’d get there too late. We didn’t question it. Why would we? We all had failures. Except when he failed, it usually involved all the Slayers in the area getting taken out, entire squads ritualistically slaughtered. It was happening all over, though, not just where Angel was. If he was in supposed to be in Vietnam, why would we connect him to a dozen ritually sacrificed Slayers in Peru?  
  
“Worse, it took us months longer than it should have to realize Slayers were being targeted. That they weren’t just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But… we finally put it together.” She took a deep breath, filling her lungs completely, and held it as long as she could before exhaling in a long hiss of air. “To cut a long and painful year short, we were stymied at every turn. It’s obvious why now, but of course we didn’t know that then. We amped up security, created larger squads, kept Slayers hidden… nothing helped.  
  
“Hundreds, maybe thousands of girls, Spike. Murdered over the space of a few years, and all because I thought it would be a good idea to empower them.”  
  
Spike stood then, moving swiftly to the barrier. He put his hand up against it, fingers splayed, and waited. Mimicking her earlier actions. When she joined him, resting her hand against his, he held her gaze. Quietly but fiercely, he said, “Evil is on the one who commits it, Buffy. It’s on _Angel_. Understand? What you did was _good_ and _pure_. He’s the one who corrupted that.”  
  
The hot, tight lump in her gut burned its way up her chest and into her throat. Buffy swallowed, and swallowed again, but couldn’t stop the tears. Swiping at her eyes, she rested her head against the grid. “I wish I could believe that.”  
  
“Would I tell you pretty lies, Slayer, just to spare your precious feelings?”  
  
Buffy sniffled. “You always were a big jerk,” she agreed, chest hitching.  
  
Spike laughed softly, a low rumble deep in his chest. When she’d caught hold of the rhythm of her breath once more, he said, “Finish it out, love.”  
  
She nodded. “It came down to me and Faith, and a handful of girls. I -” She choked for a moment. “I sent them away with Angel. To a location unknown to anyone but me. We didn’t even tell Giles.”  
  
Spike pressed closer with a wordless noise of sympathy.  
  
“My big plan was to go off on my own and draw the attackers out. I figured they wanted me, you know, and I was going to hand myself right over. Sacrifice myself to save the others.” Buffy laughed bitterly. “Same story as always. Buffy screws up, trusts the wrong person, and everybody else pays the price. I know Angel probably would have gotten to them eventually because the Powers - or whoever was sending him these visions - were leading him down this path from the beginning. But, god. I handed them right over to him, Spike.  
  
“Giles figured it out first. We’d separated, with me playing bait, and he and the others following the trail of clues. Angel got sloppy at the end, or maybe over-confident, and he stopped hiding his tracks so carefully. When Giles realized the truth… he didn’t call me right away. He knew I wouldn’t believe him, so he took Xander and Dawn and Willow and Andrew, and a handful of other witches, and went after Angel on his own. I’ll never know if it was to spare me the truth or because he thought I’d try to stop him.  
  
“They stormed the underground cave, but Angel had been expecting them. Or maybe he’d always expected to be found. Willow’s magic bounced right off of him because he was wearing this enchanted mask thingy. Not just a mask, but a full body suit that protected him from magic. It also kept any witnesses - not that there were ever many - from identifying him. Hence the _Twilight_ moniker.  
  
“When they realized Willow’s firepower wasn’t doing the trick, Xander and Dawn and Andrew tried to distract Angel long enough for the others to penetrate his magical armor, but none of them could fight him. None of them were strong enough.  
  
“Angel killed Andrew without ever even looking at him. The three coven witches were next. Dawn - you remember her beautiful face? She has a scar, like this,” Buffy said, tracing her finger from her eye to the bottom of her chin, following the curve of her face. “From the dagger Angel used to - to flay the other Slayers.”  
  
She’d lost control of her breathing once more, but there was no stopping now. Buffy didn’t know if she could halt the outpouring of words even if she wanted to. “He shattered Xander’s knee with crossbow bolt before knocking him unconscious. Xander’s walked with a limp ever since. So it was down to Willow and Giles. And Faith. Faith was still alive at this point, but barely. She was - she was -”  
  
Buffy choked, unable to describe Faith’s condition.  
  
“Almost there, Buffy. Almost there,” Spike murmured.  
  
She looked up to see tears streaming down his face, a matching set to her own.  
  
With a shaky breath she said, “Willow knew they couldn’t stop him, so she teleported out of there, nabbed me, and teleported back - you can imagine what went through my mind when she did the same thing to me today.  
  
“She got me there just in time to witness Angel snap Giles’ neck, like he was nothing. Just a crumpled heap of garbage at his feet. At first I didn’t even see the others. All I saw was Giles, dead. And Angel. He had the mask and the armor, but I knew it was him the minute - I’d been sleeping next to him for months. I knew the shape of him, the way he moved. How could I not know it was him?  
  
“Do you know what I did? Nothing. _Nothing_. I checked out. I didn’t faint, but I didn’t move a single muscle when Angel lunged at me either. He knocked me down - maybe knocked me out for a minute, I’m not sure - and then I was in chains, right next to Will. Both of us helpless to stop him as he - as he -  
  
“Willow did faint. She couldn’t take it. I wanted to, believe me I wanted to, but I owed it to Faith to stay with her.  
  
“And I did. I watched her die. She bled out slowly, her eyes locked on mine the whole time. I don’t think she blamed me, but I wanted her to. It would’ve been easier to see accusation in her eyes instead of that steady, unwavering gaze slowly dimming.  
  
Buffy swallowed, her mouth like cotton. Her heart was pounding, and she was shivering uncontrollably, but there was a light at the other end now. Spike would know the truth when nobody else did, just as he’d always heard the secrets she couldn’t bear to tell her loved ones.  
  
 _Whisper in a dead man’s ear._  
  
But no, this was different. This was - not shifting the burden, but releasing it.  Just a little.  
  
“Willow wasn’t conscious for what happened next. Nobody was, except for me. And Angel. It wasn’t especially dramatic - there was a flare of light and a rush of wind. I remember thinking it smelled like gingersnaps. And I didn’t know it at the time, but all over the world, demons started disappearing. It wasn’t all at once - _poof_ \- no more demons. More like one by one they were melting, or fading, or dusting, or even just winking out.  
  
“Angel pulled off the mask then. He started talking: _I can explain, Buffy_ , that kind of thing. He told me about the visions, and how the Powers had told him it was necessary, and what the point of it all was. He gave me the Spock speech - how the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. ‘Sure, I just murdered a couple thousand Slayers, but I saved _billions_.’  
  
“Maybe he did save the world. Maybe it was the right thing and I just couldn’t see it.”  
  
“That’s bullshit,” Spike said, his sudden harsh words startling her from her monotone recitation. “Would you have done it? Even if some fucking Powers told you it was the only way to save the entire planet? No, you’d have found another way. A _better_ way.”  
  
Buffy lifted her eyes to his. “And yet I didn’t. We tried everything, and we couldn’t stop him.”  
  
Spike scoffed. “Failing to stop evil is not the same as committing it. Thought we’d already cleared that up, Summers.” He shook his head. “Angel got to speechifying, no surprise there.” His voice gentled. “What happened after that?”  
  
Taking a shaky breath, she said, “He was so proud of himself. And he seemed certain I would be too.” Buffy paused, still dumbfounded all these years later by the look of excited expectation on his face as he’d finished his tale. How he’d looked just like a kid awaiting praise. “He told me how he’d made the world a better place, a safer place. How I was free now. He’d unchained me while he was speaking, and I was in so much shock, I didn’t really react. I just followed numbly as he led me past the flayed corpses of my fellow Slayers and the crumpled heaps of my friends and family.  
  
“He stopped right next to Giles. _I know it’s a lot to take in_ , he said, _but I did it for you. I love you_.” Teeth chattering, Buffy said, “And then he tried to kiss me. With Giles’ lifeless eyes staring up at me, and Faith’s still warm body only feet away, Angel tried to kiss me.  
  
“I didn’t even think about it. I pulled the stake out of my waistband, and I killed him.”  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews!

After talking about it for three and a half years, I've finally decided that, yes, I really really am going to change my penname, because I am not a twelve year old girl.  Just as soon as I figure out to what (naming things is harrrrrrd).  If you'd like to weigh in, you can do so here: <http://spuffy-luvr.livejournal.com/25282.html>  Any thoughts are welcome.

* * *

 

  
Spike was back to laying on his cot, arm over his eyes, and wishing he had enough booze to render him unconscious for the next decade.  
  
Except now he had an even stronger wish: to resurrect Angel and kill him all over again. But slowly. As slowly as each and every one of the girls he’d murdered in the name of the greater good had died.  
  
After Buffy had finished her tale, she’d half admitted that she’d almost killed herself right after dusting Angel, and only the certainty her loved ones would’ve died without her help had stayed her hand. Shivering like a leaf, she’d then punned - something she hadn’t done once during her recitation, a testament to how deeply it had affected her - that now he knew the story of how he’d come to be the Lone Vampire. Spike was pretty sure she’d been close to collapse by then, and that she would’ve crumpled to the ground if Willow hadn’t shown up with a warm blanket and a steady arm. It was a good thing Willow had, because he’d been about to tear down his cage door despite the certainty he’d be electrocuted or worse for his trouble.  
  
Willow had led Buffy off with a promise of a change in clothes and a warm meal, and the further promise to Spike that she would be back - a promise it seemed she was now making good on.  
  
“How is she?” Spike said when Willow’s soft tread paused on the other side of the invisible shield.  
  
“Sleeping. Jemma gave her a light sedative, so she’ll probably be out for awhile.”  
  
Spike sat up, and peered at Willow. His eyes were still scratchy and bleary, even with vampire recuperative powers. “Funny timing, you showing up with a warm blanket just as Buffy finished spilling her guts. Very coincidental, that.”  
  
Willow’s smile was a little sad, but in no way embarrassed. “The room’s sensors noticed your biometric readings - the few they can track, anyway - going all wonky. Fitz panicked and grabbed me, but when I saw you two were just talking… Yeah, I listened in,” she admitted. “At first just to confirm that you were only upset and not actually dying, and then…” She lifted one shoulder.  
  
“An’ you couldn’t have come down sooner? Offered a little emotional support?”  
  
She shook her head. “Buffy needed to get it out. You know she did. And you also know she wouldn’t have if I’d interrupted.”  
  
“Not to mention you finally got to hear the truth about how it all went down, straight from the Slayer’s mouth.” Spike suspected Willow was right about Buffy needing to get it out uninterrupted - he couldn’t believe she’d held all that in as long as she had - but he was still furious she’d spied on them, whether good-intentioned or not.  
  
With a sigh, Willow took the chair, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I’d already guessed most of it,” she said. “It wasn’t too hard. Buffy never actually told us that Twilight was Angel, but she never denied it either, and most of the rest of our guesswork followed from there. And even though she didn’t commit suicide - yay Xander and Dawn for being mortally wounded, right? - we lost all her all the same for a very long time, Spike. She blamed herself for what had happened, for not realizing it was Angel, for what the rest of us suffered because of him, and she’s only just started to recover from that. So, yeah, I held back until she got it all out. And, yeah, I listened in - not so I could eavesdrop on her secrets, but so I would know the right moment to step in. You can be angry at me if you want, but I’m not going to apologize.”  
  
He sagged. “Fair enough,” he said. Maybe Willow had the right of it. It wasn’t like he’d been able to do much more than listen, trapped as he was, and Buffy had needed more than just a willing ear. She’d needed physical support, and a warm hug.  
  
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Spike eyed the walls, wondering if they’d been built to withstand vampire strength. He’d played along nicely so far, but it was time to get out of this cell. “What about me? When do I get out of here?”  
  
Willow studied him a moment in silence, gnawing on her lower lip. Finally, she said, “One of the functions of SHIELD is to keep track of people who have powers, and to assess whether they pose a threat. People like me, or Buffy… or you.”  
  
“How very comforting,” Spike said. “Knowing Big Brother’s looking out for us all. And let me guess, I don’t get out of here until I let them do the poke’n’prod.”  
  
“It’s not so bad. Buffy and I have both been through it. All they do is interview you, ask you to demonstrate your powers, and take a blood sample. If you’re cooperative and haven’t given any indications that you’re a threat to the populace, that is...”  
  
 _Goddamn her_ , Spike thought. He leapt to his feet to pace, repressing the urge to snarl like a cornered dog. “And if I’m not?”  
  
“I hope you like this room,” she said. “It’s pretty nice compared to some of the cells I’ve seen.”  
  
Spike faced her. “You promised, witch,” he snarled. “You _promised_.”  
  
“I promised they wouldn’t experiment on you, or try to harm you. And they won’t. Do you think Buffy or I would be working with them otherwise? I don’t like being on some watchlist anymore than you do, but…” She shrugged. “It’s a trade-off. There are lots of people on the Index who are dangerous, and I’m glad SHIELD’s monitoring them. Somebody has to.”  
  
Spike glared at her with narrowed eyes, fingers curling and uncurling into fists. “The sooner I agree, the sooner I get out of here?” he said.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then let’s get to it. So I can sodding _kill_ you.”  
  
“Heh,” Willow said faintly. “Well, there’s a minor crisis upstairs, centering on, funnily enough, some of those less-than-nice folks on the Index. Which is good news for me - I’m off the director’s radar at the moment, and not worth disciplining. Less good news for you - you’re also off the radar at the moment, and not worth Indexing.” At Spike’s deepening growl, she hastily added, “But I’m sure it won’t be long. Just not, you know, right now.”  
  
Jabbing an angry finger at her, he said, “You find someone. Bully them into it, bespell them into it, I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”  
  
“I will. Soon as I can.” She stood. “I’ll bring you some more blood too, okay? Even if I have to sneak it out of the medical center.”  
  
“Yeah,” Spike said, slightly mollified. That last thermos had been far too long ago. “And booze,” he added firmly. “Lots and lots of booze.”

 

 

*******

  
  
  
Buffy woke up slowly, drifting in a warm haze and feeling lighter than she had in a long time. _This is what happiness feels like_ , she thought sleepily. _Must’ve been one hell of a date_. She floated along on the current of warmth, eyes closed, letting the memories from the night before trickle through.  
  
Steve had taken her to a swing club and taught her what he’d called his kind of dancing. A little East Coast Swing, a little Lindy Hop; “ _Not the crazy twitching you kids do today_ ,” he’d said. “ _Find me a swell band like this, and I’m a ducky shincracker, doll_ ”. When she’d given him a bemused look, he’d chuckled and told her it was payback for all the times she left him scratching his head, her references flying way overhead.  
  
After she’d gotten into the swing of things - _har de har har_ \- they’d had a blast. Heated through and pleasantly loose from the dancing, they’d strolled arm-in-arm to their dinner reservation, where she’d ordered -  
  
Buffy sat up with a gasp.  
  
 _Spike_.  
  
The bare walls and unfamiliar bed quickly confirmed it hadn’t been a dream. She really was in a SHIELD bunk, and Spike really was alive. Disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, it took Buffy a moment to actually see the room. The far wall had one of those faux-windows that didn’t do anything to make her feel less underground, and on the adjacent wall, her dress was hanging from a hanger on a hook, her strappy heels beneath it.  
  
Hold on. If she wasn’t wearing her dress…  
  
Buffy looked down to find she had a set of pajama-like scrubs on. _Whew_. She had a vague memory of Willow helping her into them, and an even vaguer memory of Willow mentioning other clothes. She hoped she wasn’t remembering wrong, because as great as she looked in that dress, she so didn’t want to wear it again today.  
  
Shivering in the cool air, Buffy quickly found a duffel filled with clothes and shoes her size and pulled them on. When a glance at the wall clock informed her she’d been asleep for over nine hours, she had a moment’s panic over how Spike was doing, but hopefully he’d gone to sleep too. He had to be just as tired as she’d been, maybe more. Coming back from the dead took a lot out you, as she could attest.  
  
And then it hit her again.  
  
Spike.  
  
 _Alive_.  
  
Legs turning to jelly, Buffy sagged back down onto the bed and curled into the pillow, balling herself up against the press of emotion. Yesterday, she hadn’t had the time to feel the full effect of his return from the dead, ten years later. Even now, she doubted it had sunk in all the way. How long did it take to understand the impact of somebody you’d loved and lost and mourned coming back to life?  
  
More importantly, how long would it take Spike to adjust? She hadn’t handled being resurrected very well, but on the other hand, Steve seemed to be doing okay with his return to the living, and decades later at that. So maybe Spike would be okay too. Maybe he just needed a purpose. A mission, like Steve.  
  
Annnnnd… she really needed to stop comparing Spike to Steve, no matter how similar their situations. Neither of them were likely to approve of the comparison.  
  
Dumbass men and their egos.  
  
Buffy rolled onto her back, contemplating what Spike’s being back from the dead meant for her. For _them_. Would there be a them? Did she want there to be a them? Did _Spike_ want there to be a them?  
  
She didn’t know. She didn’t even know which answer she was hoping for.  
  
Either way, nothing could be decided until after Spike was Indexed and -  
  
 _Crap_.  
  
She’d been so caught up in her litany of failures last night, she’d forgotten to talk to Spike about Indexing. Buffy hopped up and hurried out of the little room and down the halls, but she soon slowed, recognizing something was off. The atmosphere in the Playground had a distinct aura of Crisis Mode. Neither of the two grim-faced agents that she passed looked familiar, so Buffy continued to wend her way to D Vault, trying to keep out of the way.  
  
“Hey, Billy!” she said, finally recognizing somebody.  
  
The agent slowed his awkward, hurried trot. “Miss Summers,” he said, before speeding back up.  
  
“Anything I can do to help?” she called after him.  
  
“Thank you, but we’ve got everything under control,” he said over his shoulder. “No need to worry.”  
  
“I’m not worried,” Buffy said to his receding back. “Just… useless. As usual. Who’d have ever thought I’d miss demons so much?” she grumbled, turning the corner to the lower levels.  
  
The sight that greeted her when she reached the D Vault gave her pause, and left her wondering whether Spike had had a party after she’d left last night. Empty booze bottles lay scattered about the cell, while the vampire himself lay passed out on the bed, legs dangling off as if he’d toppled over backwards and fallen unconscious without moving since.  
  
Buffy huffed out a laugh at his disheveled state, her smile widening when she realized she recognized the boxers he’d taken to wearing after finding himself cohabitating with so many young women during those last days in Sunnydale. The smile quickly turned to a blush as her mind pointed out that if Spike had his boxers, it meant he hadn’t gone his usual commando during the final battle.  
  
And then her blush deepened as she realized the reason she was able to wax nostalgic about the sight of his boxers in the first place was due to Spike’s state of undress. Not that she hadn’t seen it before, but… wow. Obviously her memory wasn’t what it used to be.  
  
 _Drool much?_  
  
To distract herself from thoughts about physical attributes better left uncontemplated, Buffy yelled his name, to no avail. She vaguely remembered that he used to sleep like the dead, and apparently that part of her memory was accurate.  
  
“Spike!” she yelled for what felt like the hundredth time, banging on the barrier grid. What she wouldn’t give for a good heavy boot or two. And the ability to hit him with them. “Spike!”  
  
He snorted and rolled to one side, arm slung over his head, and muttered something about holograms.

_Holograms?_  
  
“Spike, get your drunk, lazy ass up!”  
  
Nothing.  
  
Eyeing the bottles, she conceded defeat with a sigh He’d been on a hell of a bender; who knew when he’d rouse? She plopped down in the chair, resolutely ignoring the tempting view of the curve of his ass, and set about waiting as patiently as possible for him to wake. Which was to say not very patiently at all. Foot tapping, she counted the empty bottles (five), then the stripes on his boxers (thirty-one that were visible), then she stood and counted the grid lines to the barrier wall (one hundred and forty-four up by two hundred and eight across). After trying to multiply that out in her head to see how many grid sections there were and giving up, Buffy flopped back into her chair with a sigh.  
  
Maybe, she thought, she should just let him sleep it off, and come back later. Except… except, she really wanted to be here when he woke, after abandoning him the night before. She couldn’t imagine what it had to be like for him, locked up like a criminal, or worse. From the empty bottles, her guess was that he hadn’t been as okay with it as he’d told her.  
  
Buffy looked around the cell, wondering what to do with herself. Again, she considered leaving, if only to go find a book or something, but Spike twitched onto his other side. And if memory served, twitchy Spike was also soon-to-be-awake Spike. She didn't want to take the chance of him waking while she was gone.  
  
She gave waiting patiently another shot, but that went as well as it had before, so she dropped to the ground for some sit-ups and push-ups.  With her back on the floor and her legs bent, Buffy crossed her arms and curled into her knees. “One… _ow!_ " The floor was unpleasantly cold. And _hard._ But it was either that, or sitting and twiddling her thumbs.

She really hoped he woke up soon.

 


	12. Chapter 12

  
“There’s a fine sight to wake up to,” Buffy heard Spike say as she puffed out _sixty-three_. “Makes me feel all decadent though, lying about and watching you work up a sweat.”  
  
Decadent wasn’t quite decadent enough a word for it, Buffy thought as she looked up and took in the way he was lounging on his side, all rumpled hair and mostly unclothed goodness. Not that she would tell him that; he had ego enough as it was. She bounced to her feet and stretched from side to side. “I’m surprised you’re not still comatose. Looks like you had quite the party without me.”  
  
Spike rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the backs of his hands and sat up cautiously, fingers to his temples. “Found myself needing a bit of help falling asleep. It was a hell of a day.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“And there’s wasn’t anything much good on the lack-of-telly, either. Needed something to distract me from the merry-go-round in my head.”  
  
“I’d ask if it worked, but I think the answer’s obvious.”  
  
With a grunt, Spike propped himself upright against the back wall, and tugged the sheet across his lower body so only his chest showed.  
  
It was still a really nice view. Not that she was noticing.  
  
“Seems like you’re handling this whole resurrection thing okay though, minus the boozefest. Better than I ever did, at any rate,” Buffy said.  
  
“Ah, but I didn’t lose Heaven, love. The last decade was just a big fat nothing of non-existence. One minute I was burning to ash in the Hellmouth, and the next, the amulet’s spitting me out in Los Angeles. I won’t say I’m not going to have some adjustments to make, but if Captain-bloody-America can do it, so can I.”  
  
“Sure,” Buffy said, relieved he had made the comparison to Steve, and not her. She hoped he was right in his assessment, because she wouldn’t wish the readjustment issues she’d suffered on anyone, never mind Spike. “And you won’t be doing it alone - well, unless you want to.” Taking the chair, she said, “Did you have any time for thinking about what you want to do when you get out of here? In between trying to drown your liver, that is?”  
  
“Hire myself out as an attraction?” Spike shifted, and thunked his head back against the wall. “What’s a proper aspiration befitting the last of demonkind?”  
  
“I have no idea, but let me know when you figure it out. Maybe it’ll be something fitting for a Vampire Slayer with no vampires to slay.”  
  
“Aren’t we the pair,” he said with a small smile. “The last vampire and the last Vampire Slayer. Is there really no place for the likes of us in this new world?”  
  
Buffy shrugged. “As long as you don’t mind being a square peg in a round hole. I hunt down HYDRA members with Steve. It’s close enough to the real thing. Most of the time.” She looked around, then leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Don’t tell anybody, but I’m sort of hoping for another alien attack sometime soon.”  
  
He snorted. “Poor, bored Slayer,” he said fondly. “It’s hard to believe the world is really demon-free. There aren’t _any_ left?”  
  
“Besides the ones human enough to have souls? Though I’m not completely convinced on the soul thing, because I sincerely doubt the Kardashians have a single soul between them.”  
  
“Kardashians?”  
  
“Think Harmony if she ever got fame and fortune.”  
  
Spike shuddered. “Now there’s a terrifying thought. Poor Harm,” he added, and seemed to mean it.  
  
“Poor Harm? _Seriously?_ ”  
  
“Well, yeah. It’s not like I wanted to spend eternity with the chit, or even another single second, but… I knew her, you know? Feels wrong, her being gone. All of them.” Spike shook his head, gaze trained on the edge of the cot. “Clem?” he said, looking up sharply.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said. “I looked for him, but…”  
  
“Bloke was harmless to everyone but kittens and Cheetos!”  
  
“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s not just the Slayers who paid the price.”  
  
Spike fell silent, face clouded with memories. Buffy let the silence rest for several minutes, in honor of Clem, before saying, “Sometimes we get a few demons who stumble through a portal, but they don’t last long. The banishment ritual kills them. Or maybe it sends them back to where they came from; I’m not too clear on the actual process. If I know some have managed to find their way into our world, and I'm nearby, I’ll hunt them down. A demon can cause a lot of damage in a very short amount of time.”  
  
Plus it was just fun, and how screwed up was she that finding a demon or two to kill was the highlight of her year?  
  
“That, we demons can,” he said wryly. Gaze turning inward, Spike scratched at his bare chest, contemplating. “Suppose I’d like to travel for a bit,” he said finally. “Take some time to adjust. Get a feel for the way things are these days, and how I fit in. Catch up on the telly shows. That _Game of Thrones_ looks like it should be good entertainment.”  
  
Travel? Buffy’s heart sank. She’d assumed he would want to be with her in form or another; after all, this was the same Spike who’d declared his feelings ten years ago for her, but only days ago for him. And maybe she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stay, but the thought that _he_ might not want to - she’d paid lip service to the idea, but hadn’t really considered it. _Spike_ and _not want to be with her_ were two things that hadn’t gone together in a very long time. It was selfish and self-centered to expect Spike to always want her, Buffy knew that, but the memory of his steadfast love and devotion had gotten her through many an awful night. To lose that now...  
  
And then she realized - Spike was the exactly the same, literally, but she was ten years older and wrinklier, with ten years more baggage to her name. And that was a _lot_ of baggage. More baggage than the Winchesters combined. Suddenly confronted with a much older, much baggage-ier Buffy, maybe _not want to be with her_ wasn’t so unlikely after all.  
  
Determined not to show her dismay, she smiled brightly. “I don’t know about _Game of Thrones_ , but the traveling part sounds like a good idea.” And she meant it, or would if she could get over being so wrapped up in her own ego for half a second. Traveling was a fantastic way to rediscover who you were and your place in the world. She’d done some of it herself, after Sunnydale.  
  
Maybe she needed to do it again. Except not _with_ Spike, because that would defeat the whole letting him find his place in the world purpose.  
  
“I don’t know that you’ll find the world all that different, though.” Buffy stopped and thought about that for a moment. “Well, regular people wouldn’t. You might, I guess. No more demon bars, no more kitten poker, no more virgin sacrifices…”  
  
“If there are still half-demons in the world, I’m sure I’ll find something.” With a waggle of his eyebrows, he grinned and tapped his nose. “I’ve got a nose for iniquity, or did you forget, love?”  
  
Buffy grinned back. Now that the first flush of disappointment had worn off, she was grateful for the lack of pressure Spike’s decision to travel rather than stay by her side put on her. It had been less than a day since he’d fallen back into her life, and she still didn’t know where her future lay with him. If it did at all. What if it was only nostalgia that was making her think she wanted to be with him? What if she brought him into her life, full stop, and it just didn’t work?  
  
No, better to keep a distance and take it day by day. See whether the feelings were real, or if the Spike of her past could fit into her present, assuming he even wanted to.  
  
And besides, it probably would take him a while to figure out just where he belonged in this new demon-free world. She still hadn’t, and she’d been living in it for years.  
  
Buffy gestured at the empty bottles. “It’s pretty hard to forget your ability to find trouble no matter where you go, what with the proof scattered about your cell. How the hell did you even get _any_ alcohol, never mind that much of it? Wait, don’t tell me, it was the girl scientist, what’s her name? Jemma? She just couldn’t resist your sinister attraction.”  
  
Spike drew himself up. “I’m offended, I am, that you think I’d try to manipulate -”  
  
“Oh, she’s immune to your charms is she?” Buffy said, snickering at him.  
  
With outthrust lower lip, he said, “The woman looks at me like I’m a science kit waiting for her to open me up and stir my innards about. She only wants me for my body, and I’m no object, I’ll have you know.”  
  
She stifled a smile. “So if Jemma’s not your supplier, who is?”  
  
“Willow might be feeling a mite responsible for my situation,” he said, gesturing to the cell walls. “It was part of her reparations for this Indexing bollocks they want to put me through.”  
  
Buffy clapped a hand to her mouth. “Indexing. Crap. I keep forgetting.” When Spike narrowed his gaze, she said, “Phil asked me to talk you into it. I was… disinclined, but I did promise to try. Sounds like Willow already spilled the beans.”  
  
“She did. And I agreed to it,” he said shortly.  
  
“Well, that was easier than I expected.”  
  
“Not like I had much of a choice. Willow said it was that or a permanent cell. Did she exaggerate?”  
  
Buffy hesitated. “I don’t actually know. I want to say they wouldn’t do that, but…”  
  
“About what I figured,” Spike said.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, Buffy in the metal chair with her elbows on her knees and her chin propped on her hands, and Spike on the cot with his back to the wall and his legs akimbo beneath the cotton sheet. When he yawned repeatedly, she smiled. “Looks like someone needs a nap time already.”  
  
“I could sleep,” he agreed. “But then I’d miss out on your company.” His gaze held hers, soft and warm, leaving Buffy awash with memories long-forgotten.  
  
Suddenly dizzy, she swallowed and stood up quickly, refusing to let her legs betray her. “How about I let you catch some more z’s while I go shower and grab some breakfast, and see what’s the what upstairs. I’ll see if I can find you some breakfast too, and meet you back down here in an hour or two”. Buffy felt like the worst person ever, running off on Spike again, but she couldn’t face the memories right now. Not without making a fool of herself and asking him to stay with her, and that would lead to nowhere postive for either of them. And besides, he really did need more sleep, from the look of him. “Sound good?”  
  
“I’ll try to be here,” Spike said dryly, his expression more of a grimace than a smile.  
  
Buffy made for the stairs, but paused at the foot of them. “I don’t think I’ve said it yet, at least not in so many words, but Spike?” Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she looked up, and met his eyes. “I’m glad you’re not dead. _Really_ glad.”  
  
HIs entire face softened, and he gave her another of _those_ smiles, the gentle, real kind that left her trembly and weak. “Thanks, love. Me too.”  
  
“I -” I, what? She didn’t know. Well, she did, but he wanted to travel the world, and she wanted him to feel free to do so. Buffy gave him her brightest, most confident smile. “I’ll see you soon.”  
  



	13. Chapter 13

 

Fitz dropped the amulet to the lab bench, and interlaced his fingers behind his head. Every test he’d run so far suggested that the amulet was completely inert. Nothing more than a gaudy piece of jewelry, with no indication that it had ever been something more. For a moment, he considered summoning Rosenberg to ask her whether she could detect any residual energy, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Asking her to try her hocus-pocus on it would mean admitting she had powers he didn’t understand and therefore couldn’t duplicate with science. He wasn’t ready to go there yet.  
  
Ever. He wasn’t ready to go there _ever_.  
  
Leaning back in his chair, he swiveled to check the away team’s progress on the monitors. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary there. Fitz watched the monitors for several minutes, the corners of his mouth curling progressively downward, and his fingers tightening on each other.  
  
Now that he didn’t have the amulet to distract him anymore, his disappointment and frustration had free reign. Fitz swiveled again, fingers still interlaced behind his head, until he faced Simmons. “I don’t know why they left me behind,” he said. “I’m not - I could’ve helped. Coulson doesn’t need to coddle me anymore.”  
  
She smiled at him, the gentle smile that meant she was humoring him even though she thought he was being overly-sensitive. Again. “Don’t be silly, Fitz. They didn’t take me either. They simply didn’t need us for this mission.”  
  
“Not need? Since when are we not needed? We’re a vital part of the team. Or I was, before -”  
  
Simmons set her pipette down and tugged off her gloves. Giving him her full attention, she said, “Fitz… you have to trust the director to do what’s best. Not just for the mission, but also for you. Don’t you think he understands what you’re going through?”  
  
“How can he? It’s not like he’s ever lost -” Fitz waved his fingers about his temples. “I can’t -” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m not myself, Jemma. I’m not - _me_.”  
  
Simmons reached for his hand. “I know. But even if Coulson hasn’t suffered hypoxia, he’s undergone a profound transformation all the same. If you don’t feel like yourself, imagine how he must feel, knowing he was dead? And that he has alien blood in him? I think he does understand, Fitz. More than you realize.”  
  
It was a reasonable answer, but Fitz didn’t want to be reasonable. He wanted things to be back the way they were, before. Before Ward had betrayed them, and before he’d suffered brain damage, and before Jemma had stopped looking him in the eye, like he was something she didn’t quite understand and didn’t know what to do with.  
  
“Yeah, well,” he began, then stopped at her wide-eyed look of dismay. “Jemma?”  
  
“The amulet!” she said, tugging on his arm and yanking him out of his chair.  
  
“What?” Fitz looked over his shoulder as she pulled him away from from the bench.  
  
Oh. The amulet. Was glowing? And vibrating? What the hell?  
  
“What’s going on, Fitz? Spike didn’t say anything about somebody else being trapped in there, did he?” When he shook his head, Simmons said, “Did you do something to it?”  
  
“Not that I know of! It’s inert. Every test said it was inert.”  
  
“Well, clearly it’s not.”  
  
Pausing at the far end of the bench, they turned to face the amulet, which had levitated several inches above the bench and was now humming as well as glowing.  
  
“Maybe we need some sort of containment -” Fitz began.  
  
“Of course,” Simmons said, and hurried forward. Just as she did, there was a loud crack, and a swirling blue vortex appeared.  
  
“Jemma!” Fitz started towards her, but was buffeted backwards by a tremendous blast of wind. He knocked into the wall and fell to his knees, bits of labware flying past him and smashing into the wall before raining down on him.  
  
Arms up to protect his head, Fitz waited it out, desperately hoping Jemma was okay. As soon as the deluge of glass and twisted metal slowed, he pushed to his feet, scanning the room.  
  
“Oh, balls,” he said, and ducked down out of sight of the monstrous, tentacle-headed _thing_ that had just stepped out of the vortex. Bent in half, Fitz scuttled along the far side of the bench, muttering, “Icer. Icer, icer, come on, where is the icer…” There was no doubt in his mind that the whatever-it-was had _not_ come in peace, and shooting first and asking questions later was in no way unreasonable.  
  
Fitz listened for Jemma as he searched, thinking to himself that no noise from her had to be a good sign. Right? It meant she was probably hiding and not… and not…  
  
She was hiding. That was all there was to it.  
  
“Aha!” he said, spying an icer case on the floor. When he opened the case, he was relieved to see the cartridges were unbroken despite the tumble to the ground. He loaded the gun with shaking hands, then cautiously peered over the top of the bench.  
  
_Bollocks_. Tentacles had a buddy now, and based on the continued existence of the portal, Fitz suspected there were more to come.  
  
It was okay. He could do this. Fitz rested his gun-holding hand - his right one, which didn’t work so well these days - on the bench top, steadied it with the other, and sighted down the barrel. Much as he’d rather never think about Ward, _ever_ , at that moment he was grateful for the traitorous bastard’s tips on how to handle a gun under pressure.  
  
Fitz said a quick prayer, and squeezed the trigger. The icer hit Tentacles with a flare of blue.  
  
And didn’t do a blessed thing to the monster, so far as he could tell. He fired off three more shots into his original target, and four into the other. Enough to stop anything.  
  
Except apparently these guys. And now his gun was empty. _Shit shit shit._  
  
Tentacles slowly swiveled its head Fitz’s way, and its mate did the same. They bared their teeth, and Fitz shrank back. He couldn’t help it. Those were really _big_ teeth in a pair of really terrifying faces. Spike’s demon visage was nothing compared to these guys.  
  
_Oh, right. Spike -_  
  
His brain clicked into gear. Spike, who had come out of this amulet, was a _demon_. Odds were these creatures were too. Which meant he needed Summers and Rosenberg, because they knew about demons, and he decidedly did not. Only one problem: Fitz had no clue where they were, and he didn’t have time to track them down.  
  
But he did know exactly where Spike was. He just needed to get to his tablet, and then he could talk to Spike over the intercom and open the D vault cell door. With almost every other agent off-site and pursuing the current HYDRA-related mission, Spike was going to be his best bet.  
  
Rosenberg insisted Spike was a champion, and not a threat. Time for the vampire to prove it.  
  
Fitz shuffled halfway down the aisle, then leaned up and peered over the bench towards the spot he’d been working earlier. His tablet was gone; in fact, everything that wasn’t bolted down was gone, blown away by the earlier blast of wind. The tablet was designed to withstand drops and bangs, but Fitz didn’t think it could have survived that wind.  
  
Okay, so Plan B. The panel by the lab door would also allow access to D Vault. All he had to do was cross the lab without attracting the notice or the ire of the demons, and then stand up and work the panel while in plain view. Easy.  
  
Easy as certain death.  
  
The demons were admittedly ignoring him, despite his non- _welcome to our world we mean you no harm_ actions, but Fitz wasn’t sure how long that would last. And where exactly was Jemma? He still hadn’t seen nor heard her.  
  
Maybe he should find her first, and make sure she really was okay before attempting his heroic and probably suicidal mission.  
  
Or maybe trying to save her without backup would only get her killed. He didn’t know.  
  
But he was certain that remaining frozen with indecision would be the worst choice of all.  
  
Heart pounding, Fitz eased his way closer to the lab door. When he reached the end of the bench’s protective cover, he paused and hissed, “Jemma!”  
  
Nothing.  
  
He lifted his head up to see what Tentacles and Friend were doing. His relief at their lack of attention to his actions quickly gave way to terror at the sight of even more demons stepping through the vortex, these ones with giant axes strapped to their back and necklaces made of what looked to be body parts hanging from their thick, wrinkled necks.  
  
To hell with getting Spike. He needed to seal the lab off - even if it meant sealing Jemma and himself in with these things - and sound the general alarm. Somebody - everybody - would come then.  
  
He readied himself to dash to the door, but before he could, a sixth demon stepped out and the portal winked shut. One of the demons pocketed the amulet, while another pulled a small, crystal orb from its pocket. It reached down, out of Fitz’s sight.  
  
When the demon stood, he saw it held an unconscious Jemma by the upper arm. Her head lolled to one side and hit the edge of the bench with a sharp thunk, and Fitz let out a squeak of dismay before clamping his hand over his mouth. The creature held the orb to Jemma’s mouth, and began to mutter in harsh, guttural sounds.  
  
Right. New priority: get Jemma away from them. Before the demon did - whatever it was doing.  
  
Try as he might, Fitz couldn’t think how. His brain, unreliable at the best of times these days, was in lockdown. He scanned the room, desperate for ideas, until his gaze lighted on the fire extinguisher a few feet over. It wouldn’t be enough to stop these creatures, not unless they had a convenient allergy to monoammonium phosphate, but at least it would provide a distraction - hopefully a long enough one to allow him to steal Jemma away.  
  
Fitz crab-walked over to the fire extinguisher, eyes on the demons the entire time. They ignored him, intent on watching what looked like the wisps of green mist darting from Jemma’s mouth and into the glass orb. Even when he stalked closer, extinguisher in hand and ready to deploy, only one of the demons turned his way, and briefly at that.  
  
All the better for him. Fitz wished he had a gas mask, and maybe some infrared goggles, but the orb was growing steadily more opaque with whatever they were stealing from Jemma, and he didn’t think she had much time left. Fixing Jemma’s position in his mind, he pointed the nozzle directly at the head of the demon holding her and shouted, “Oi. You lot ever seen one of these?”  
  
When it turned its head, Fitz blasted it in the eyes, theorizing (he hoped correctly) that anything with eyes could be blinded. Then he aimed the spray in a short, concise arc, trying to get as many of the demons as he could. The shroud of chemical mist veiled Jemma from his sight, but he heard the sound of a body thunking to the ground beneath the creatures’ roars. Hoping his hearing hadn’t betrayed him, he threw the empty cannister at the closest demon and dove towards where he’d calculated Jemma to be, letting out a shout of victory when his hand closed on something soft and squishy and definitely human.  
  
Fitz scuttled backwards, dragging Jemma after him. Part of his mind was busy estimating the percentages of both of them escaping with life and limb intact, while the other part of him was crowing in amazement that his plan had - so far at least - actually worked.  
  
Hoping they were out of range of stomping feet and swinging axes, he paused to hook his hands under Jemma’s armpits, trying for a better hold on her. Why did unconscious ( _please let her only be unconscious_ ) people have to be so bloody heavy? The lab door was only a few feet away now, though, and once they were through it, he could seal it shut from the other side.  
  
Five feet left. Four feet. He didn’t know how he’d done it, but they were going to make it. Only three feet -  
  
Fitz had never before heard the sound of an axe whistling past his head, but the sound was so unmistakable, he automatically dropped to the ground with a shout of terror. He looked up to see a demon on either side of him, weapons at the ready, while the remaining four stalked closer, teeth bared.  
  
_I’m sorry, Jemma_ , he thought, just as the axe swung again.  
  



	14. Chapter 14

  
Buffy looked up sharply, ears attuned to the sounds filtering through from somewhere on the far side of the complex. Screams and roaring? Never a good sign.  
  
She took off running, mind automatically ticking over the possibilities. If she remembered right, the lab was down that way. But why screams and roars would be coming from the lab, she had no idea. Maybe she’d jinxed the base by wishing for an alien invasion. Or maybe…  
  
Yep. That would be why those roars sounded so familiar. She’d seen tentacle-headed demons like the three thudding down the hallway towards her before: every now and then Wolfram and Hart punched holes into the world and sent these guys through, demonic versions of Noah’s doves searching for dry land, or in their case, a world that no longer rejected demons.  
  
“It’s your lucky day, boys,” Buffy said with a feral grin, thinking that it was her lucky day, really. Spike back from the dead and a reason to get her slay on? The only thing better would be if Spike were at her side. Well, that and knowing that despite the screams she’d heard, nobody had actually been hurt.  
 _  
Good job, Summers. So desperate to have a purpose again, you forget about the collateral damage._  
  
Buffy shook off the thought. There’d be plenty of time for wallowing in guilt after these guys were dead. The demons slowed and she dropped into a crouch, scanning the hallway for something to use as a weapon. She didn’t have the standard issue stun gun she carried on missions with Steve, not that it would do much good against these guys, nor did she have the more archaic but also more-effective-against-demons weaponry she’d habitually carried in the old days, and there was nothing useful in sight. The Scythe, no more than a sharp and shiny ornament hanging on the wall of her loft these days, would’ve been handy right about now. Where was Willow and her teleporting skills when you really needed her?  
  
Or Willow and magic, period, Buffy thought as the lead demon reached behind his back to reveal a double-headed axe almost as big as she was.  
  
Maybe she could get it away from him. Check that - she’d _better_ get it away from him. Barring unexpected aid, Buffy knew from previous experience with these tentacle-headed guys that that axe was her only chance at stopping all three demons by herself.  
  
She shifted, readying herself for battle, but before she could attack, a SHIELD agent she didn’t know skittered around the corner at the far end of the hall, mouth set in a thin line and high-powered rifle at the ready. Without even pausing to steady her weapon, the agent fired three shots, one into the back of each demon’s head, leaving Buffy no time to shout out a warning.  
  
The agent had excellent aim, and had the demons been human, or elephants, or even another type of demon, the shots would have felled all three. Instead, the bullets exited through the front of their tentacle-y heads and fell to the ground, useless twisted hulks of melted metal. The axe-wielding demon growled, fangs bared, and Buffy winced. Maybe bullets couldn’t kill these guys, or even slow them down, but she was sure they hurt like hell all the same. And a hurt demon was an angry demon.  
  
But also a distracted demon.  
  
“Run!” Buffy yelled to the agent as she sprang from her crouch, launching herself at the axe. The woman hesitated, and Buffy mentally urged her on. She so did not want to have to worry about trying to save somebody else’s hide at the same time as her own.  
  
She got one hand around the haft and wrenched, pulling the demon into an ungraceful spin that ended with the pair of them thudding into the wall. Buffy shoved tentacles out of her face with one hand and planted a sharp elbow to the leather-armored chest with her other arm, and they spun again.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the female agent stumble. Before Buffy could blink, the larger of the remaining demons had caught the agent by the arms, while the other fumbled in a pouch for something.  
  
“Damn it,” Buffy muttered, wondering what the smaller demon was searching for as she ducked a swing of the axe. Normally these guys cut and ran, doing their best to survive long enough to test the banishment spell, but their behavior seemed more purposeful this time.  
  
On the side of small favors, whatever the other two demons were attempting meant her own personal axe murderer had no backup, and made the chances of getting his weapon and turning it on him that much higher.  
  
Buffy rolled through his legs and popped up with a sharp blow to his lower back, sending him stumbling into the wall, then spun a kick to his head. She came up short - stupid extra-tall demons - and had to pull her kick to avoid slicing her own foot off. The blade caught her on the shoulder as she spun through. Buffy hissed in pain but twisted to catch the haft once more. She jabbed it upwards and it bashed the demon under what passed for its chin with the top of the axe.  
  
With a snap of her wrist, she sliced the blade through a couple of the creature’s tentacles, and it howled in pained fury. “Sushi time,” Buffy muttered, focusing on the promise of victory rather than the stomach-curdling sight of the dismembered tentacles writhing on the ground like lizard tails.  
  
The demon released its hold on the weapon, and Buffy staggered under the sudden weight. She let the momentum carry her backwards to the wall, several feet away, and used the brief reprieve to throw a glance the female agent’s way.  
  
Her blood froze at the sight of the smaller demon holding up a small crystal orb to the captive woman’s mouth, and Buffy immediately went back on the attack. She didn’t know what the purpose of the slowly-clouding orb was, but she didn’t need years of slaying experience to know it couldn’t be any kind of good.  
  
Though the oversized axe was unwieldy, causing her to lurch from side to side as she barrelled forward, its weight added to her momentum. Buffy pivoted and heaved it upward, blade whistling through the air. It cleaved through the demon’s thick neck, sending the head tumbling to the ground while the body fell over with a thud, and clanged into the wall with a mighty reverberation.  
  
Buffy shook off the trembling in her arms. With a wordless cry, she ran at the other demons. They stumbled backwards, struggling captive in tow, the demon with the orb holding it fast to the agent’s face and chanting something in a guttural language.  
  
Two things happened as she reached them: the orb began to glow, and the woman cried out and fell limp. The larger demon dropped the woman, and the two took off running, grunting to each other.  
  
For a moment Buffy paused, torn, but then she gave chase. If the agent was already dead, there wasn’t much she could do. But if the agent was still alive, Buffy had the feeling it was going to be imperative to get that orb back.  
  
The demons turned the corner and she skidded after them, shoe soles squeaking against the floor. “Hey!” she shouted. “Where’s the fire? Wait for me!”  
  
They didn’t, not that Buffy had thought they would, but she’d hoped they’d at least slow to look back at her. They were too fast; possibly too fast to catch. She didn’t remember this type of demon having been too fast for her before. Maybe it was a sign of middle age creeping up on her.  
  
Or maybe it was the ten-ton axe slowing her down. Buffy liked that theory much better.  
  
She set her feet, and with loud grunt, hurled the axe like a javelin at the smaller demon’s back. It hit with a satisfying thud, and sent the demon sprawling. The bigger demon sprinted on for a few steps before noticing his partner had fallen, then turned back. He scooped the orb up and took off once more before Buffy could catch up to them.  
  
“Oh, come on,” she muttered. Pausing only long enough to grab the axe once more - boy, were those arm muscles going to hurt tomorrow - she followed, hoping the still prostrate smaller demon would stay down long enough for her to come back and finish it off.  
  
They turned another corner, Buffy hot on the demon’s heels. Up ahead, in the middle of the corridor they’d entered, stood Fitz and Billy. A half-decapitated demon corpse sprawled nearby, along with an unknown agent, and another agent was tending to an unconscious Jemma.  
  
Fitz blanched when he saw Buffy and the demon coming, but he quickly moved to block the creature’s passage.  
  
“He’s got some kind of magical orb thing,” Buffy panted. “We can’t let him -”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Fitz said. Billy and the other agent moved to join him, expressions strained but resolute.  
  
The demon barrelled straight through them, but the human blockade slowed it down just enough for her to catch up to it. Buffy sprang, axe whirling. She missed the neck, but the weight of the axe in its back knocked the demon to the ground. Fitz dove for the orb as it rolled away, and Buffy yanked the axe free and brought it down again, finishing the job.  
  
“Be right back,” she said, sprinting back the way she’d come, intent on finishing off the last demon.  
  
It was already gone. Buffy did a quick search of the area, but couldn’t find it, so she hurried back to the agent she’d had to leave behind earlier. After confirming the woman was merely unconscious and not dead, Buffy hoisted her over her shoulder and headed back to Fitz and the others.  
  
She handed the unconscious woman over into the other agent’s care, then turned to Fitz. “What the hell is going on? How’d those demons get into the super-secret underground bunker?”  
  
“The amulet. It made a - a portal.”  
  
“A portal?” Buffy frowned. “Where is the amulet now?”  
  
“One of the big and scaries took it.”  
  
“Please tell me it’s one of the three dead ones, and not the one that got away.”  
  
Fitz shook his head. “ _Three_.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“ _Three_ got away. If you killed two, and Raines killed one, that means three got away. There were six.”  
  
 _Six. Fuck_. “All right. We’ll search the dead ones, and hopefully the question of how they turned the amulet into a portal and whether they’ll do it again will be a moot one after we’ve secured the stupid thing.” And maybe destroyed it as well. So long as Willow didn’t think it would affect Spike. “What about this orb thing? Any clue?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Fitz said. “They used one on Jemma, but I smashed it by accident. Do you think that’s bad? She’s still unconscious, but she was unconscious before they used it and -”  
  
“You mean there was more than one?” Buffy said, her voice rising. More than one meant her instincts were right - Wolfram and Hart definitely had some purpose other than testing the banishment ritual. “We need Willow. _Now_.” She thought about the three demons still on the loose. If they had more of these orbs, she couldn’t just rely on the banishment spell to take care of them, not without knowing what the orbs did. “And Spike. Coulson can Index him later, but either you let him out or I -”  
  
“Not a problem,” Fitz said. “I’ll take full responsibility if the director doesn’t approve.”  
  
Buffy nodded, pleased she didn’t have to argue the point. “Great. Let’s go -”  
  
“I can do it from here.”  
  
“Well, that’s handy. Fine, you guys search the dead demons for the amulet, and find Willow. I’ll get Spike. We’ll meet back here pronto.” She turned to leave, but hesitated at the sight of Fitz’s red eyes and pinched expression. “Whatever that orb thing did to Jemma, Willow will fix it. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”  
  
Fitz looked like he wanted to ask her something. Maybe several somethings. Buffy beat a hasty retreat before he could get the first word out. She hurried down the corridor, a smile on her face despite the severity of the situation.  
  
She had a vampire to free.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!

  
Spike was toeing one of the empty bottles next to his cot with his boot and wondering how soon Buffy would be back when he sensed rather than heard the electronic barrier to his cell go down. Even though he hadn’t realized it was there until it was gone, the sudden absence of the faint but ever-present hum against his nerve-endings was a relief, and some of the tension left his shoulders.  
  
But only for a moment. He cocked his head, eyes narrowed, wondering if it was some sort of test. If this had been The Initiative, and if he hadn’t know Buffy was here, working with this lot, he would’ve taken advantage of his unexpected freedom without a second thought. As it was, he didn’t want to do anything rash and cause Buffy even more trouble than his showing back up in her life, unannounced, already had. His resurrection was hard on her; it didn’t take any great insight to see that. Harder for her than it was for him, at least for the nonce. Maybe when he actually got to live in the world instead of being locked in this cell - unlocked, now - that would change.  
  
Spike doubted it, though. He’d already lived through a century and a half of drastic changes to the world. He’d unwittingly slept through the biggest change yet, but he didn’t doubt he’d adapt. It was what he did. And really, could a missing decade be any worse of a culture shock than acquiring a soul?  
  
In the meantime… He stepped up to the edge of where the barrier had been, and passed his hand through it. Nothing. Spike had half-expected to be electrocuted, but maybe that would only happen if he actually tried to leave.  
  
A minute passed by, then another, with no change. He’d just made up his mind to at least test whether he could leave when he heard footsteps on the stairs.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
“Still here.”  
  
“Oh good,” Buffy said, turning the corner down the stairs and coming into view. “Fitz said he’d open your cell, but he must not have yet. I figured you’d be off like a shot the minute it went down.”  
  
Spike stepped all the way through. _Look ma, no shocks._  
  
“Guess you figured wrong,” he said. “Though I was mighty tempted.” He joined her at the foot of the stairs, face to face. Nothing between them now but a few centimeters of air, and Spike was hard pressed not to make it zero space at all. “What’s with the sudden parole?”  
  
Buffy took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She looked down at their clasped hands for a moment, smiling to herself, then turned back up the stairs, tugging him after her.  
  
Spike tightened his fingers around hers. He couldn’t help it. She didn’t seem to mind, which was… well, _neat_.  
  
“Your amulet? Turns out Wolfram and Hart can use it as a portal,” Buffy said. “The base has a slight case of demon infestation. Which normally ranks along the lines of all in a day’s work, but these tentacle-headed demon guys stole the amulet, and that means they now control a portal. And they’re using some orb thingies to steal some sort of essence from people. Whatever they’re up to, it’s not mindless destruction.” Over her shoulder, she said, “I was hoping you’d be willing to put off your grand tour to help out.”  
  
“I’m offended you have to ask,” Spike said, meaning it. Truth be told, he’d only suggested travelling because he’d had no clue what else to do with himself, and didn’t want Buffy feeling responsible for him. She’d had enough of that already.  
  
“Wouldn’t want to make an ass of you or me.” She squeezed his hand a little tighter, thumb rubbing against his palm. “But I was hoping you’d say yes. I may be good with the general slayage, but I think this situation is going to require all hands on deck, because -”  
  
He got it. “Because Wolfram and Hart is a big bad. A big bad with a _plan_.”  
  
“And a demon with a plan? Never good for the world.” Buffy stopped at the top of the stairs with Spike a step below, which put them at eye level. “Good thing your stupid plans never worked, huh?” she said, eyes twinkling.  
  
“Good thing,” he echoed, trying for annoyed sarcasm and missing. It _was_ a good thing, not that he appreciated being reminded of his failures. Then again, losing to Buffy wasn’t all that shameful. The girl had a habit of ruining every demon’s best-laid plans, to the world’s advantage, and Spike took it as a point of pride that if he had to fail, at least it was to Buffy’s credit. “So, you thinking what I’m thinking? They’re stealing souls?”  
  
She pushed through the door, dropping his hand in the process, and set a determined pace down the hall. “It crossed my mind. But I’m ignoring the possibility, until evidence proves otherwise. Because as much as I might miss being able to put the _slay_ in Slayer, and as much as I might hate what Angel did… No demons? Is not a bad thing. If they’ve found a permanent way back into our world…” Buffy slowed a little. “That would be bad enough, but if their way back is by stealing souls?”  
  
“Could be we’re wrong,” Spike said. He wondered whether he should take her hand again, or if that would be awkward. “Stealing human souls sounds a bit far-fetched. Not really sure a demon could.”  
  
“Oh, they could. Remind me to tell you about my roommate Kathy.” She caught his raised eyebrow and added, “Short version: she was a demon. Tried to steal my soul so she could hide from her family and stay at UC Sunnydale. She almost managed it, but failed, obviously. Anyhow, soulless people? Not outside the realm of possibility.”  
  
“And I missed it?” Spike said, before remembering soulless Buffy was not something he’d pay to see, these days.  
  
So his own soul was a work in progress at times. So sue him.  
  
Buffy slanted him a look, and he shrugged. “Old me would’ve enjoyed it. And this, too. Would’ve enjoyed the thought of soulless mayhem on principle.” Spike mused on the idea for a moment, and found it didn’t bring him pleasure. It was good to know the soul really was still there. As they climbed another flight of stairs, he said, “If people are losing their souls… you think this ritual of Angel’s will affect them?”  
  
She immediately shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it was specific to demons. But I could be wrong. Also, nobody’s losing their souls, remember?” Buffy banged open the stairwell door and marched down the corridor, grabbing him by the jacket sleeve to haul him along when he didn’t go fast enough to suit her. She slanted him another look, this one more much harder to read than the annoyed glare of moments earlier. “So, I was wondering... how would you feel about living in New York? After you’re done traveling the world?”  
  
Spike blinked at the sudden change in subject. _New York? Was she -?_  
  
Before he could answer, they they turned the corner and ran into Willow. Literally.  
  
When they’d each found their footing again, Willow held up a cloudy orb and said, “Guess you _can_ teach an old demon new tricks. The Prothean Demons? Have learned how to steal souls.”

 

*******

  
  
There were times when Coulson’s facade of unflappable calm was just that - a facade. He hadn’t decided yet if this was one of those times. Amidst the wreckage of the lab ( _looks like Mayhem was here_ , Summers had said - and to his relief he actually knew what she was talking about this time), Coulson listened to Fitz’s debrief, followed by Summers’ and Rosenberg’s analyses of the situation.  
  
He was less than pleased to find his base had been trashed in his absence. Even though Spike wasn’t directly responsible for what had happened, he could hear May’s _I-told-you-so_ ringing in his head already. Good thing she was still off chasing down Gidher and her crew - maybe they could have everything set to rights before she returned.  
  
“Let me make sure I have the all the pertinent information,” he said, cutting off the back-and-forth between the others. “The demons have control of this Wolfram and Hart amulet, and have already proven they can reopen a portal at will based on the energy signatures you’ve traced since they escaped the bunker. They’re using - what did you call them, Orbs of Thesulah?” Rosenberg nodded, and Coulson said, “These orbs to steal people’s souls, which allows them to avoid mystical detection and subsequent rejection from our world.”  
  
Rosenberg nodded again. “In theory. It’s unclear if it will actually work, and if it does, whether it’s permanent or just buys them some time.”  
  
“And you say that Simmons and Carrington have had their souls returned without any lasting side-effects, but Mardak’s is still MIA.”  
  
“We’ve got him in D vault for now, sir,” Simmons said. “Until we can determine how it will affect him.”  
  
Simmons looked pale, and had some bruising to her face, but seemed otherwise unscathed, thank god. Coulson didn’t know what he would have done if both Fitz and Simmons had suffered permanent injury while under his command.  
  
He spared a glance for D-vault’s most recent occupant. Spike had already agreed to be Indexed, and did seem to be on their side, so far as Coulson could tell, but having a bloodthirsty vampire sitting calmly in Fitz’s swivel chair, part of the team, was a new experience. Even if Spike was meant to be formerly bloodthirsty. The shirt splattered with demon guts really wasn’t helping to form a non-bloodthirsty impression, and Coulson wondered just how long that formerly would last if this new demon threat divested the vampire of his soul.  
  
“And what about the civilians?” he said, making a mental note to ask Summers about whether it was wise to send Spike after these demons, just in case he lost his soul and reverted to his former self.  
  
“We’re working on finding a way to identify any who might have had their souls taken, plus some way of tracking said souls,” Rosenberg said. “And on the less pleasant side, a temporary internment facility for the less-than-civilized soulless.”  
  
“But that can’t be our priority,” Summers said. “Yes, we want to fix anybody who’s come over all _honey badger don’t care_ , but an ounce of getting that amulet back and destroying it is worth a pound of smashed soul-stealing balls. And I do mean both kinds of balls.”  
  
Coulson blinked. He could work through that. He just had to -  
  
“Do the tentacle-heads _have_ balls?” Fitz said.  
  
“Not as you’d recognize,” Spike said. “So Willow and the Wonder Twins are on research, with me and Buffy on recon?”  
  
Summers stood. “I need to go home and get some supplies first. The scythe, maybe a couple of axes... ” She turned to Spike. “What kind of weaponry are you up for?”  
  
“You kept it all?” Spike said, and laughed when she gave him a withering look in response. “A sword or two will do me fine, love.”  
  
“Sure. With Air Willow at our disposal, there’s no worry about getting everything past TSA. Oh, and we’ll need Lawn,” she said, turning to Rosenberg. “If you’re up for it?”  
  
Coulson blinked again. He definitely wasn’t going to figure that one out on his own. “I’m sorry. A l _awn?_ ”  
  
“My sister and her husband, the Watcherly duo of Larry and Dawn. They’ll have to take the place of -” She dropped her gaze, and in a more subdued voice, said, “They have most of my Watcher’s old books, since they were studying to be Watchers before - everything. They’ll be a huge help with the research.”  
  
“Brilliant. I’ve been wanting to meet this Larry fellow,” Spike said.  
  
Coulson knew he wasn’t imagining the yellow glint in Spike’s eyes, but he repressed his shudder. He was calm. Totally, unflappably, calm.  
  
“ _You_ will be nice,” Summers retorted. “We’ve already vetted Larry, and he passed with flying colors.”  
  
“We’ll see,” Spike said.  
  
Fitz raised his hand. “Does this mean you’re planning on bringing them here? Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is still a _secret_ base, isn’t it?”  
__  
Thank you, Fitz, Coulson thought. He’d tried to corral these ex-Sunnydalians multiple times already, with little to no success. Maybe it was best to let them take charge - they were the subject matter experts, after all - but he wasn’t used to debriefings spiraling out of his control like this.  
  
“We can set up in town,” Rosenberg said. “Oooh, and we can have a welcome back party for Spike while we’re at it. Andelea - that’s my wife, Spike - has been wanting to meet you. We’ll have to bring Xander in too, because hey, hey, the gang’s all here.”  
  
“Right. Wouldn’t be the same without Harris. Somebody has to fetch the doughnuts,” Spike said.  
  
Summers rolled her eyes at him before turning to Rosenberg. “I’ll be sure to leave the crossbow at home, then.”  
  
In tandem, she and Rosenberg said, “I used to be an adventurer like you…” The two of them burst out laughing, and Coulson was relieved to see Spike looked equally lost. Maybe it wasn’t just him.  
  
“What sort of assistance will you need?” he said, taking advantage of the lull in the conversation when their laughter died out. “Is it dire enough to assemble the Avengers?” Coulson didn’t think he’d ever tire of uttering that phrase, but he wasn’t saying it on a whim, either. Director he might be these days, but demons were still well above his pay grade. He really didn’t know what it would take to solve this crisis.  
  
With a small smile, Summers looked at Spike. He smiled back. Then she turned to Rosenberg, some sort of mental communication passing between them. For all Coulson knew, they really were speaking telepathically. He’d had reports that Rosenberg was capable of it.  
  
“It’s far too dire for the Avengers to handle,” Rosenberg said with a small smile of her own. “We need to go bigger.”  
  
“That’s right,” Summers said. She put a hand on Spike’s shoulder. He overlaid her hand with his, lacing his fingers with hers, and she turned to face Coulson. Grinning now, she said, “Way bigger.”  
  
Spike nodded. “Right. You need the crack team that’s foiled every apocalypse to come their way.”  
  
“Yep. There’s only one team capable of handling a crisis like this. You need -”  
  
Summers paused a beat, Spike and Willow flanking her as she faced him. She looked deadly serious - her shoulders had a determined set to them, and _Slayer-ish_ was the only word Coulson could of think to describe her mien - but for the first time since he had met Buffy Summers, her smile reached all the way to her eyes.  
  
Her every word ringing with confidence and authority, she said, “Phil, you need to Assemble the Scoobies.”

 

 

THE END

 

 


End file.
